Another Time Another Place
by Toffeecrisp
Summary: The Story of Molly Dawes and Captain James. A re-imagining in another time.
1. Chapter 1

**_I am uploading this story with a degree of trepidation as I know that stories set in a different era are not everyone's 'cup of tea'. I started writing this story for someone who hadn't watched 'Our Girl'. The reason they hadn't watched it was because they thought they wouldn't enjoy the contemporary feel and setting in Afghanistan. However, I thought that 'Our Girl' was such a great story with great characters and an appealing love story that it could be translated into another era allowing for certain changes that have to be made to make the story credible when set in another time. If you don't like this story, I will not be offended and I thank you for taking the time to read it. If you do like it, I would be happy to continue. I'll leave the judgment to you._**

Molly Dawes gazed at the Lancaster bomber before her and not for the first time, marvelled at the sight. With a wing span of almost one hundred feet, four Rolls Royce Merlin engines, a top speed of two hundred and eighty seven miles per hour and the ability to carry a bomb load of up to fourteen thousand pounds, it was a formidable weapon. She loved this aeroplane and would have given anything for a chance to actually experience a flight. Seeing it here directly in front of her on the hard standing of the aerodrome and knowing that this was going to be _her_ aeroplane and it would be _her_ responsibility to keep it flying, filled her with a combination of excitement and apprehension. She had been waiting for this moment since she had first joined the WAAF but now that it had arrived the responsibility of the job she had assumed became apparent to her. Real lives would depend on her doing her job properly; this wasn't training anymore. It was war.

When Sergeant Walters at the training depot had called her over to speak to him two days ago and informed her that she was being posted to RAF Milton, an operational bomber station, to join a flight maintenance crew, she had been overjoyed. She had taken to the flight mechanic training like a duck to water. She had a great natural grasp for technical details and a flair and enthusiasm for the work and it had been noticed. When the request for a replacement had arrived, Aircraftwoman Dawes' name had been top of the list.

Other WAAF's on the eighteen week training course had been less than enthusiastic. Most had not volunteered for this job. Some had joined up on the promise of becoming drivers or doing clerical work once basic training was completed, only to be sorely disappointed when they discovered there were no vacancies for these jobs and what the service really needed was mechanics. Many had joined up because they liked the uniform or thought the RAF had an air of glamour that the other branches of the services lacked. Molly was the lucky one. She had known from the start that this was where her heart lay. Not only had she always dreamed of flying, she had always loved engines.

It had started quite simply with bicycles when she was a little girl. She had been fascinated at the way the pedals worked in conjunction with the chain to drive the wheels forward. Then she had moved onto motorbikes, striking up conversation with the grocer's son and spending hours sitting alongside him on the pavement kerb as he maintained and tinkered with the engine of his motorcycle, trying to extract just a few more miles per hour from it. Finally, as a teenager she had found herself hanging around Mr Shawcross' garage asking if she could help him with small jobs. It had amused him to see a young girl so interested in something unusual for her sex and he'd taken time to explain to her the inner workings of the car engine. Whenever Molly's mum needed to find her she only had to make her way to the Garage at the end of the street and Molly would surely be there.

"What d'you want to mess about with those dirty engines for, Molly?" She admonished her looking at her oily, grime encrusted fingers.

Molly shrugged, "It's just really interesting, mum. I'd love to work with cars!"

Her mother had sighed, this old chestnut again! She couldn't seem to get Molly interested in doing anything else.

"Well, nobody ever heard of a girl being a car mechanic, so you'd better buck your ideas up and find yourself a decent job. You know things haven't been the same since your Dad had his accident."

Molly certainly knew that her Dad, Dave, said he was too unwell to go back to work after his accident on the building site two years ago and certainly too unfit to join the Home Guard or ARP, although he still seemed able to make it down to the Earl of Wakefield for a pint or three on a regular basis. The family got by on the small amount of sick pay Dave received from the union, the little that was spared after beer money, the pittance her mother earned from taking in washing and the infrequent money that Molly earned from a series of casual jobs that she was forever having to do in order to help out. Having left school at fourteen with no qualifications, finding regular work had been a continual problem and most of the jobs she had undertaken had been mundane and poorly paid. At nineteen years of age and the eldest of five children she was the only one at home with her parents as her younger siblings had all been evacuated to the West Country in 1940. Molly knew she had to help contribute to the family but she also knew that she would be called up for National Service any day now and in spite of wanting to help her mum, was determined to take this opportunity to achieve her dreams. As soon as she was able, she volunteered for the WAAF and asked if she could train as a flight mechanic. Her mother was distraught to see her leave but Molly had promised to send money home on a regular basis and at least as a flight mechanic in a Grade Two trade she earned two shilling's pay per day.

Now standing here in the Spring of 1943 looking at the aeroplane in front of her, Molly felt as if she had finally achieved her goal.

"What are you gawping at?"

She spun around to see a short, stocky, dark haired corporal dressed in mechanic's overalls striding from the direction of the hangar towards her.

"Excuse me, Corporal, I'm Aircraftwoman Dawes. I was told to report to Corporal Barker."

He stood in front of her and looked her up and down taking in all five feet three of her, dark hair scraped up under her cap, overalls seemingly two sizes too big and her large, green eyes regarding him anxiously.

"Where do they get them from?" He muttered to himself under his breath.

Molly, taken aback by this welcome, retorted,

"I'm a good Mechanic, Corporal!"

He regarded her with a hint of annoyance at this unexpected reply,

"I'll be the judge of that! Let's hope you don't end up like the last one!"

Two hours later, having been given every mundane and painstaking job that seemed to have as little to do with engine maintenance as was possible, Molly was beginning to wonder if she had upset the Corporal. She had been expecting to do the job she had been trained for and not the mind numbing set of tasks she had been given. She was startled from her thoughts by the sound of a truck approaching and then pulling up next to the aeroplane only ten yards away from her. She looked up to see a group of men in flying jackets getting out of the back. One of them, a tall, good-looking, dark-haired man in his late twenties, clearly from his uniform and peaked cap, the officer, approached the Corporal to discuss the maintenance work that had been going on with his number two engine whilst the crew hung around near the truck. Having finished his conversation he turned back to his men and called out to the group who were laughing, joking and generally fooling around,

"How long can it take you bunch of school boys to get yourself sorted out?"

Molly couldn't help herself. She wanted to laugh but her attempt to stifle the sound only produced something between a snort and a giggle which drew the attention of the officer. He turned around to look at her and she felt the weight of his stare. He regarded her sternly.

"Something funny, Aircraftwoman…..?"

"Dawes." She supplied.

"Something funny, Dawes?" He repeated

Molly couldn't help herself, in spite of his obvious antipathy to her.

"School boys, Sir!"

"Why do you think I called them school boys, Dawes?"

Molly looked at the group, all fresh –faced, new recruits, keen, eager and as yet untested.

"They look young, Sir?"

He smiled cynically at her.

"Yes, you're right, they are young but this is most definitely a man's job!"

The tone of his reply was not lost on Molly and he gave her a withering look as if he had little faith in her ability. She felt very small and most definitely put in her place. A little part of her, the cheeky, irrepressible cockney, the reason she had laughed in the first place, also felt annoyed. She had trained to do this job alongside men and she knew she was just as good as the other male trainees and in many cases better. In her heart she wanted to say something to the arrogant officer, put him in his place and tell him that he was underestimating her. The Molly of her earliest days on basic training probably would have spoken out and dropped herself into hot water as a result. However, now, many months later with the benefit of experience, her head very quickly told her that as a mere Aircraftwoman, the lowest rank in the service, she must bite her tongue and let the comments pass however much she disliked them.

The Officer turned back to his men and they began to climb into the Lancaster. After a short while she heard the engines roar as into life and watched the plane taxi away from the hard stand making its way to the runway. It took off, soaring into the sky unhindered by the weight of a bomb load on this occasion. She watched it disappear into the distance on a training and test flight and it was gone for an hour and a half.

Corporal Barker allowed Molly to go to the Mess for a cup of tea and a sandwich whilst the aeroplane was out. When it returned there was more work to be done. The crew disembarked and the officer, who seemed to be in a better mood after the flight, strode off to speak to the Corporal again.

Molly was watching some of the crew chatting when she was surprised by the sound of a welsh accent behind her,

"Well, if it isn't, Molly Dawes. As I recall, we met around the back of the Dance Hall, one time."

She hastily turned around and looked at the red-headed young man behind her who was dressed in flight crew attire. They had met before.

"Gawd!" she said, astonished, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I could say the same!" He replied with a cheeky grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

Molly recalled with embarrassment that she had once shared an ill-advised kiss and cuddle with this young man after a dance at the training depot during the early part of her training course. No doubt it had been fuelled by the consumption of a couple of gins he had bought her earlier in the evening that she wasn't used to drinking.

"I bet you don't remember my name?" He teased

"I do actually, its Smithy!" She retorted wishing he wasn't here but trying to maintain an air of dignity. Sergeant Dylan Smith. She remembered thinking that Dylan was a lovely name at the time but now she found herself cringing with embarrassment at the thought.

"Well, we were bound to meet up again at some point," he continued, "That's the RAF for you."

"What are you doing here?" She asked him.

"I'm the Flight Engineer on C for Charlie." He nodded in the direction of the officer who had reprimanded Molly. "Flight Lieutenant James is our Captain and these," he turned and pointed out the other young men behind her, "Are the rest of my crew. Perhaps I should introduce you as we know each other already."

Molly looked at him in horror and lowered her voice.

"_Please_, don't say anything about before, will you?"

Smithy meant to get the as much enjoyment out of her discomfort as possible.

"We're a close knit crew. We work as a team up there, I don't know if it would be a good for morale to keep information from them." He regarded her with a serious look.

"But…..what about first impressions. I don't want them to get the wrong idea." She stammered.

"Come on." He grasped her by the elbow and led her over to his fellow crew members.

"Listen up, chaps, I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine, Aircraftwoman Molly Dawes. We met when I was on the flight engineer course. It's a small world."

He introduced her to Sergeants Archie Kinders, Maurice Berry and Ray Fingerson, the Navigator, Bomb Aimer, and Wireless Operator on C for Charlie and the mid and rear air gunners, Corporals John Nuttall and Mike Mansfield. After they'd all greeted her, Smithy turned to her and said,

"Alright, now?" She saw the cheeky smirk on his face. He had enjoyed her moment of embarrassment and she was irritated by it.

"I knew I should never have danced with a Taffy!" she hissed at him out of earshot of the others and to her annoyance she saw him laugh.

Flight Lieutenant James, having finished his conversation with Corporal Barker, walked back to the truck, got into the cab and sat alongside the driver for the return trip to the Mess. Corporal Barker, his clip board in hand, marched over to Molly who was now fully expecting to be given a list of some basic maintenance checks on the engines.

"Dawes, I need you to get over to the stores and fetch some replacement wire and coils."

Molly sighed, she had been told that the stores were on the opposite side of the aerodrome and she'd only just returned from the mess after her break. She hadn't got a bicycle yet and that seemed to be an essential item on a station of this size. At this rate, she reflected, she would be spending most of her time walking around the aerodrome rather doing her job. Smithy was still standing nearby and waiting to get back into the truck. Overhearing the conversation he said,

"Jump in the back, we're going your way. It'll save you half the journey."

Molly was in two minds, she didn't know whether she wanted to spend more time in Smithy's company but the thought of walking another half a mile, there and back, persuaded her. Smithy gave her a hand up into the truck and with the tailgate pulled up they banged on the cab and the driver moved off.

Sitting in the back of the truck watching their eager faces, hearing the jokes, the banter and leg-pulling Molly began to like them all. They talked about their plans for their first operation which they were sure would be happening any day soon, now that their Captain seemed to be happy with the way their training flights were progressing. Molly could see that beneath the bravado they were a group of young men, not long out of school or apprenticeships that were just as keen to get on with their jobs and prove themselves as she was.

The truck pulled up five minutes later with a squeal of brakes outside the Mess which was situated in the main part of the aerodrome in which all the flight crew accommodation, officer and other ranks messes, administration block, operations rooms and the air control tower were located.

Molly was being helped down by Smithy when Flight Lieutenant James rounded the end of the truck and seemed taken aback by the sight.

"What are you doing in that truck, Dawes?" He sounded annoyed.

Molly hadn't realised that James was unaware of her being in the vehicle.

"On my way to the Stores, Sir. The boys offered me a lift."

He looked at her for a full ten seconds, clearly not amused by what he had seen.

"This truck is for crew only! Are you crew, Dawes?"

"No, Sir!" Molly felt about the size of an ant whenever he spoke to her in that tone of voice.

"Don't do it again. Off you go!" He nodded his head in the direction of the buildings but Molly hesitated. It was only her second day on the station and she didn't know where the stores were.

"What are you waiting for?" He asked, his forehead creased in a frown and a note of exasperation in his voice.

"I….don't know where they are, Sir." She replied.

He sighed.

"Smithy, show Dawes where the stores are." With that he turned on his heel and strode off in the opposite direction.

Smithy politely indicated in which direction to turn and Molly started to follow him.

"What _is_ his problem?" She spoke at last, venting her annoyance.

"Oh, dear are you worried that the Captain doesn't like you?" Smithy laughed.

"No!" She retorted, "Why would I want a rude, toffee-nosed officer like _that_ to like me?"

She was not prepared for the response from Smithy who stopped walking and turning to face her said with feeling,

"He's a better person than you'll ever be!"

"What?" Molly was nonplussed.

"Find the stores yourself!" Smithy, clearly offended, turned around and stomped off without another word.

Molly stood open-mouthed in shocked surprise at what had just occurred. She couldn't imagine why Smithy had just reacted in such a way. Unfamiliar with the layout of the station she was unsure what to do next. Thankfully, at that moment she caught sight of one person she had already met, a fellow flight mechanic called Jackie Lewis who was coming around the corner of the Admin block. They had been introduced the night before when Molly had settled into her quarters and she had found Jackie to be a friendly girl.

Jackie smiled at her,

"Are you lost, Molly?"

Molly looked gratefully at her, "Yes, I was on my way to the stores but I seem to have upset the person who was showing me."

Jackie glanced beyond Molly to see Smithy disappearing into the distance.

"Oh, don't worry about Smithy." She said reassuringly.

"Do you know him, then?" Molly asked.

"Yes and I knew his brother, Geraint. Flight Lieutenant James was his Captain too."

Molly was surprised by the news but caught the meaning of Jackie's words.

"Was?"

Jackie gave a sad smile, "He died. Got badly shot up on a raid over Bremen. Flight Lieutenant James was near the end of his first tour then. He managed to get the ship back here even though it was only on two engines, the landing gear was out of action and there was great, gaping hole in the fuselage. He used up as much of the fuel as he could and got the rest of the crew to bale out before he brought the ship in and did a belly landing on the runway. He got her down all right and even went back in to drag Geraint out of the wreckage 'cos the number one engine was in flames. He did all that but Geraint still died."

Molly listened in silence, surprised and awed in equal turn.

"He's a good Captain, Molly. He's volunteered for a third tour and no one does _that_. Almost all the crew are new but I bet he'd do the same for any of them again. You won't hear a word said against him at this station."

Molly realised now why Smithy had been so offended by her words. Even so, she was still finding it hard to reconcile the image that Jackie had painted of Flight Lieutenant James with the reality she had experienced. He had been stern, arrogant and dismissive of her without really giving her a chance. It hadn't been a good start to the first day in her new posting.


	2. Chapter 2

As James walked towards the Officers Mess he couldn't help reflecting on how irritated he had been by the new WAAF Mechanic in C for Charlie's ground crew. Who did she think she was on her first day, sniggering at him when he was speaking and then cadging lifts with his crew? The last WAAF mechanic had left under a cloud having been found to be 'in the family way' and now this one appeared to be cheeky, loud-mouthed and unaware of her place in the scheme of things.

Two operational tours had taught him that the ground crew played just as important a role as the flight crew in keeping his aeroplane flying. The ground crew loved their aeroplane, cared for and took a pride in it. They understood the Captain's little foibles and trusted his judgment on how the aeroplane was handling and the engines were running and he in turn trusted them. The last thing he wanted was anyone disrupting the balance. He knew that Dawes wasn't under his direct command but he recognised that she was still a part of the team that kept 'Charlie' in the air and he needed to know that he could rely on that team at all times.

It was more important than ever now. His crew were ready for their first operation and he'd informed Squadron Leader Beck of this only yesterday. On this, his third tour, five of his crew were new. Only Sergeant Kinders, his Navigator, had previously flown with him during his second tour. With so much experience under his belt James had earned the right to personally select his Bomb Aimer, Wireless Operator and Rear Gunner from the Operational Training Unit and they had worked hard on pulling together and forming as a team. This wasn't the first time he'd formed a crew but on his second tour he'd been fortunate enough to retain the Wireless Operator, Rear gunner and Flight Engineer who had served with him since from the start. The rest of his crew had been made up of replacements. The core of his crew had all managed to come through their second tour of twenty operations, which was no mean feat given the odds against it happening. None of them were compelled to undertake a third tour and he hadn't expected any of them to volunteer. They had earned their moves to permanent instructor roles and he didn't begrudge them their entitlement.

His decision to volunteer for a third tour had met with raised eyebrows in many quarters. It was rare for someone who'd come through fifty or more operations to consider returning. The powers that be had kept him grounded for six months after his second tour fearing he was suffering from fatigue and after a spell instructing at the Operational Training Unit, his decision to volunteer a third time had been questioned. He had his own reasons for returning not least of which was how unsuited he felt for a life in the background and in the summer of 1943 Bomber Command was not in a position to refuse the services of such an experienced pilot.

At the Conversion Unit where the five man crew began training on heavy four-engine bombers and became a seven man crew with the addition of a Flight Engineer and Mid Upper Gunner, the appearance of Smithy had initially been a shock to James. It had brought back memories of his first tour and that devastating first loss of a crew member. There had been others on his second tour; some who'd left the crew through injuries sustained on operations and a couple of others whose injuries were beyond survival. His decision to select Smithy for his crew had been questioned by a few fellow pilots who knew him well. He did not regard this as a decision based on sentiment. He wanted the best crew possible and recognised that Smithy was the best Flight Engineer available for selection. What mattered to James was doing his job and giving his crew the best possible chance of making it through to the end of their tour.

At the end of her first day, Molly sat on her bed in the WAAF quarters and found herself contemplating her future here at RAF Milton without much enthusiasm. The day's events had most definitely put a dampener on her high spirits this morning.

"A penny for them!" Jackie sat down on the bed opposite Molly. Around them other WAAF's were carrying out personal tasks, darning stockings, washing their hair, writing letters home, reading magazines or just chatting quietly amongst themselves.

Molly looked up at Jackie and said dispiritedly,

"I seem to have got off on the wrong foot with everyone."

Jackie looked surprised.

"You're not talking about Smithy again are you? He's alright, he'll come round, don't you worry!" She tried to sound reassuring.

"It's not just him," Molly replied, "There's Corporal Barker who doesn't seem to think much of me, certainly not enough to let me my do my job properly and then Flight Lieutenant James who thinks I'm….well, I don't know what exactly he thinks I am, but he certainly looks like he'd rather I was somewhere else altogether!"

She pulled a face and then they both laughed.

"Corporal Barker doesn't have a high opinion of WAAF mechanics because of Annie." Jackie said.

Molly looked blank,

"Annie was your predecessor. She didn't like the job much and preferred flirting with as many of the boys as possible. It's no wonder she _had _to leave."

Molly gathered what Jackie meant by 'had to leave' and began to appreciate why Corporal Barker was dismissive of WAAF's even if it was totally unfair to think of her the same way. Sadly, this was not the first time she had heard such opinions expressed. Most of the unfair comments were made by men in the services but sometimes the comments were even made by other women. No matter how hard the WAAFs worked, there were always some who simply would not accept them.

Jackie gave Molly a long appraising look.

"There's something different about you, Molly Dawes. You'll show Corporal Barker, I bet you will and you'll probably show Mr James as well. Keep your chin up, girl!"

In spite of her apprehensions, Molly smiled and felt encouraged by Jackie's words. Yes, she wouldn't let it get her down. She would find a way to prove herself.

The next morning, Molly was working alone at the hangar. Corporal Barker and the other members of the ground crew had disappeared, she suspected they had gone off somewhere to sneakily smoke a cigarette or two out of sight and she had been left with the tiresome, dirty job of washing out carburettors. For some reason they seemed to think this was fitting work for her, preferring to keep her away from the Lancaster's engines. She realised she had her work cut out to persuade them to let her do the job she was good at.

Behind her she heard the sound of a car approaching. She could tell it wasn't the usual service car often seen around the aerodrome. She recognised the sound of a sports engine and turned to see a small, two-seater, open sports car in smart racing green approaching the hangar. Looking more closely with a knowledgeable eye, she identified it as an MG TA Midget, a pre-war model and a nice car to own and drive, she reflected. As it drew nearer, she could detect something wrong in the note of its engine. She also recognised the driver and her heart sank.

The car pulled up and Flight Lieutenant James got out of the driver's seat. He craned his neck and gazed from side to side looking for someone until his eyes rested on Molly, elbow deep in filthy water. Their eyes met and feeling obliged to speak she called out.

"Are you looking for someone, Sir?"

He hesitated for a second before moving towards her.

"Corporal Barker. Do you know where he is?"

In all honesty, Molly didn't know where the Corporal was but knew it wasn't the 'done thing' to admit this fact.

"He was called away, Sir." She hoped she sounded convincing.

James took in this fact, weighing up the likelihood of it being true.

"I see." Molly realised he wasn't fooled but he continued. "Do you know when he might be back?"

"No, Sir." Molly said quietly.

"Very well." James replied, "Could you tell him I'd be grateful if he might be able to spare the time to take a look at my car?"

Molly raised her eyebrows a fraction at this request and James in spite of not needing to explain himself, continued, "He was good enough to look at her a few weeks ago. Something's wrong again."

Molly knew about engines and she knew a _lot_ about car engines.

"If you don't mind me saying, Sir, I noticed that the engine seems to be racing a bit, when you drove up just now."

James frowned, "An expert on car engines are you, Dawes?"

He sounded unconvinced and she realised this was her opportunity to raise herself in his estimations.

"Well, I spent a lot of time in garages, servicing cars before I joined the WAAF."

She wasn't sure but she thought she saw just the merest hint of smile in the corners of his mouth.

"Very well," he said, "Let's see how good a car mechanic you are."

He stepped back and gestured towards the car. Molly recognised a challenge when she saw one and decided now was the time to pick up the gauntlet.

Wiping her hands on her overalls, Molly made her way over to the car. James produced a small toolkit from the storage space behind the seats and she opened the bonnet of the car with trepidation. Looking at a car engine again after so many months of working on nothing but aeroplane engines was like seeing an old friend again. She soon lost herself in the job, happily tinkering and making small adjustments here and there until after ten minutes or so, she was able to look up again, hands covered in grease to see the Flight Lieutenant watching her intently. He was silently marvelling at the rapt enjoyment on the face of this young woman. She clearly loved what she was doing and he was genuinely surprised. He knew he wasn't paying attention when Molly said clearly for the second time.

"Can you start the engine, Sir?"

He got into the driving seat and started the car. The engine purred and Molly smiled at the sound.

Turning the engine off, he called to her,

"Well done, Dawes. You seem to have sorted it out." He was definitely smiling this time and her heart lifted. She felt that she had done something right at last.

"It seems I am in your debt." He added.

Molly was mildly embarrassed.

"All part of the service, Sir." She replied self-consciously.

_But it wasn't part of the service, was it?_ James thought to himself. He'd come here to find Barker and ask a favour. He hadn't expected her to be able to resolve this problem for him. Perhaps there was more to Dawes than he had previously admitted to himself.

"Well, thank you, anyway." He nodded at her and starting the car up again swiftly drove away.

When Corporal Barker and the rest of the ground crew returned a few minutes later, he asked,

"Anything to report, Dawes?"

Molly shook her head. "No, nothing, Corporal."

As Molly and Jackie left the WAAF Mess the following morning after breakfast, they were informed by a WAAF Corporal that signals had been posted to advise that all aircrew were confined to the station today.

"That means they're on ops tonight." Jackie informed Molly, "They'll most probably be doing service checks and test flights this morning. It also means you're probably going to have your first long night in the hangar. Good job you ate up your porridge, you're going to need it."

There had been a lull in activities at Milton for the past ten days or so. Recent raids had put a number of bombers out of action and they had not been up to full strength. The enforced rest had allowed some of the new crews and replacements to have extra training practice but it seemed as if they were all to be finally put to the test tonight. Molly couldn't help feeling nervous. 'Charlie' was her aeroplane, they were her crew and they were venturing into danger for the first time.

True to Jackie's words, Flight Lieutenant James and his crew took ' Charlie' out for a short test flight in the morning. On their return James seemed happy with everything and looked relaxed. The same could not be said of his crew. Apart from Sergeant Kinders they were all about to go on their first operation. A cursory glance at each of their faces told Molly that they were keyed up and ready to go, some obviously excited, others contemplating it in more depth. Catching Smithy's eye and not wanting to let the moment pass without speaking to him after their last exchange outside the mess, Molly wandered over to him and said tentatively,

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged in response and she couldn't read the expression on his face.

"I dunno. A bit excited, I suppose. I know that probably sounds wrong, but after all the training, I just want to go out there and prove I can do it! That's what we've been working for all this time. I suppose I'm a bit worried too, you know, worried that I'll let the rest of the chaps down. I think we all are."

Molly understood. It was the same for her being here and wanting to do her best if only everyone would give her a chance.

"You'll be alright, you'll see." She said encouragingly and then paused before adding, "I heard about your brother, Geraint. I'm sorry!" She wanted him to know that she understood his outburst the other day and felt that she should build a few bridges. In spite of her initial embarrassment at seeing him again she didn't want the situation between them to be awkward. What had happened months ago was nothing more than happened after any such dance up and down the country. They were all young, life was precious and there was no harm in sharing a few innocent moments with someone. Molly reasoned that it shouldn't stop them being friends as long as Smithy realised that was all they were.

She saw the look on Smithy's face change at the mention of his brother. He looked hurt, almost angry and Molly felt that she had made a mistake in mentioning it.

"That's why I'm here, really. Why I volunteered for air crew. I wasn't going to let Geraint die for nothing. There's got to be a point to it all, hasn't there?"

He stared at her and she didn't know how to respond although thankfully he didn't seem to need her to say anything. At that point Flight Lieutenant James called the crew over to him and Smithy turned and walked away from her.

As Molly walked back to the hangar to fetch some tools she pondered over Smithy's words. She knew from talking to Jackie that the more experienced crews were not normally excited by the prospect of a raid. Mostly, there was a quiet air of dread. No one would openly express this but most crews just wanted to get on with the job, get it out of the way and get one more operation nearer to their target of thirty.

After the service checks in the morning the crews returned to the Mess or their quarters to wait until the operation briefings began in the afternoon. They knew that the Armourers would go about their business later in the afternoon, loading the bomb bay and ammunition for the guns. It was only now that the first operation was imminent that James began to relive all those previous occasions when he had waited, time dragging painfully slowly, for the operation to begin.

It was mid-afternoon when he and Kinders were called for the preliminary briefing for pilots and navigators whilst Berry and Fingerson attended specialist briefings for the bomb aimers and wireless operators. Each group were given specific information relevant for their role in the operation. A little later, a few hours before take-off, everyone was called together for the main briefing.

Filing into the briefing room past RAF Police who checked them off before they were permitted to enter, James' crew found themselves in a room with one hundred and twenty or so other squadron members. They sat near the front in a row on the right hand side of the aisle. Before them on a low platform was a large board, covered by a blackout sheet. As the station and squadron commanders came into the room the crews swiftly came to attention before being told 'at ease'. A cloud of cigarette smoke rapidly filled the room as the crews nervously lit up in anticipation of the news to follow. The Commanding Officer stepped forward and announced,

"Gentleman, your target for tonight is…" he reached over and pulled the sheet away from the map. James waited for the response that would surely follow, as it always did.

"Hamburg."

Groans could be heard from various parts of the room, the odd muffled comment and the joker who always said something like, "Sorry, Sir, I've got other plans, tonight!" to whistles and various rude comments.

"Settle down." The C.O. called.

James and the rest of the crew stared at the board which had red tape marking the route from their base to the target. Hamburg would not have been his first choice of target for a mostly inexperienced crew but he had to reason that no target was ever easy no matter what various air crew had to say on the matter. It would be a test for all of them.

The Senior Intelligence Officer now stepped forward and gave them all more information about the importance of the target, the reasons for attacking it and how any previous raids had gone. He also gave them information about the location of searchlights and any areas where heavy flak was a problem. The one occasion that he made a verbal slip,

"We will be attacking the rail yards.." was met with the usual derision afforded to anyone not actually going on the raid.

"What's with the 'we'?" Called from various parts of the room.

James' crew, unused to hearing this type of disrespectful heckling looked around them in surprise. James, a veteran of more than fifty previous such briefings, just smiled to himself, accepted the situation and stayed silent.

After the Senior Intelligence Officer had spoken, the specialist leaders for each aircrew role briefed the crews again on the route being taken, including turning points to be plotted, the wireless frequencies, the bombing payload, the amount of high explosive and incendiaries to be used and the timing and phasing of the attack. Finally, the Meteorological Officer advised on the wind speeds, cloud conditions and weather expected over the target. Glancing to his left and right James could see that Berry and Fingerson looked anxious and were writing copious notes. Kinders made brief notes but had the experience to sift the information into 'need to know' and' nice to know'. The briefing finally ended with a few encouraging words from the C.O. and then the crews filed out and went to the Mess for the customary pre-operational meal of eggs and bacon, a luxury in wartime Britain.

These last few hours were the worst, James recalled. They were sealed in a pre-operation bubble; no longer permitted to communicate with the world beyond the Station. About ninety minutes before take-off they made their way to the crew room to dress. Looking around him, James saw the faces of his crew, all trying to keep each other's spirits up, laughing raucously at the weakest of jokes and gamely bantering with each other even though one or two looked as if they might be sick at any moment. He had relived this so many times and it never got any easier.

Each crew member dressed himself in the flying gear he preferred. Some of them liked to wear full long-johns, or special knee length socks, some liked the electrically heated jackets or gloves. Most wore thick roll neck pullovers under their RAF tunics with the regulation sheepskin lined leather flying jackets and boots. Finally, they donned their Mae West life jackets and parachute harnesses. They collected flasks of hot tea, sweets and light snacks to take with them and then heavily overdressed for a warm summer evening but well aware that the chill of many hours at high altitude would eventually numb their fingers and toes, they shuffled out to the trucks that would carry them to dispersal.

Once in the truck, the crew fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Berry was holding a small St Christopher medallion between his thumb and forefinger. Nuttall sat with his head in his hands looking wan and breathing deeply whilst Fingerson was intently looking at photographs in his wallet. Smithy was staring fixedly ahead and looked tense, a muscle in his jaw twitching occasionally. Mansfield alone seemed relaxed although James noticed that his right foot was tapping continuously on the floor of the truck. As for James, he began to go through the process that had served him well on so many other occasions and systematically cleared his mind of all things beyond this operation and his crew.

When the truck came to a standstill next to 'Charlie' the crew climbed down and James saw the ground crew waiting for them. He and Smithy walked over to Corporal Barker and they ran through the final checks before boarding. Glancing sideways, Smithy caught sight of Molly and gave her a thumbs up accompanied by his best impression of a grin. She smiled back at him. James caught the exchange and was momentarily surprised not realising that they were on friendly terms but quickly snapped his attention back to his aeroplane. With final checks completed, the crew boarded. The light was beginning to fade now and take-off was imminent.

Everyone had climbed on board and into their positions. The Wireless Operator, Fingerson, said,

"Intercom, OK" and James spoke calmly and firmly to the six other members of his crew.

"Captain to crew. You all know your jobs. We all work together and we keep our minds on the Op from now until we get back. Stay focused. Stay alert. Stay alive!"

One by one they acknowledged him, taking in the meaning of his words but none, except Kinders, were aware that he had repeated this at the start of every operation on each of his last two tours. It was his ritual. He didn't know whether he believed in fate or luck or if either existed but he was a pilot and superstition was unavoidable. He settled down once more, routinely going through the motions so well practised.

"Ignition on!" He called as the propellers of the four engines rotated a few times before the engines sparked and roared into life.

As the plane taxied away from the dispersal point a few minutes later, Molly caught site of Jackie and few other ground crew and WAAFS standing by the end of the runway. As each bomber started its take-off run they waved, wishing it god speed. As 'Charlie' waited at the end of the runway for the green light from the controller van to flash and signal clear for take-off, she saw the group waving and though she was some distance away, she raised her hand too.

Inside C for Charlie, James saw the small group next to the runway. He knew this was just as much a ritual for those left behind as any of the pre-flight rituals conducted by the crew. A little further away, to the west, he could see the dispersal area and against the fading light, the silhouette of someone standing there waving. For some reason, for the very first time, he raised his hand in response and waved back. A new tour and a new ritual he thought to himself. The green light flashed and he started his run.

Molly watched the aeroplane increase in speed as it moved along the runway. It seemed too heavy and lumbering under its huge bomb load to rise into the air, but somehow its four engines hauled it clear of the ground and enabled it to rise upwards, avoiding the hedges and trees beyond the end of the runway as it made its way into clear space. She watched it slowly climb and fly further into the distance until it had disappeared beyond the horizon.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a long night. After the Squadron had departed, the ground crews had time to go off duty, eat a meal, and attend to personal matters or sleep. However, Molly was unable to relax or concentrate on anything for very long. She had returned to her quarters and lain on her bed trying to sleep for a few hours but her thoughts kept returning to C for Charlie. As the hours ticked by she wondered and feared what might be happening. She could only imagine how it must feel to be part of a crew facing the dangers of a bombing raid. She'd spent the Blitz in London, sleeping in a communal air raid shelter for fifty seven consecutive nights in late 1940 and she certainly knew the terrors of being subjected to bomb attack night after night. In spite of this, she still felt pity for those who were being bombed but consoled herself in the belief that they were not deliberately targeting people as their targets were strategic; railways, factories and industrial and military installations.

Molly glanced at the clock on the wall it was almost eleven thirty and she knew that the Squadron would be over the target about now and would be hoping to make it back to base between two and three in the morning. She would need to be on standby at that time for their return. As soon as they landed the ground crews would assess the damage and get to work. Mechanics and fitters would strip back the engines, repair or replace damaged parts, find the source of fuel leaks and service the engines ready for the next trip. The riggers would start repairing damage to the aircraft structure, patching holes caused by bullets and shells to make the aeroplane airworthy. Electricians and wireless technicians would repair or replace damaged wiring or equipment. As soon as the aeroplanes had taxied to their hard stand the race to get them airworthy and ready for the next Operation began.

Having been told to report back on duty at one thirty in the morning, Molly cycled over to the dispersal area using a bicycle borrowed from a friendly WAAF cook. As she pedalled she felt the cool night air fan her face. It was a fine clear summer's night. The stars were shining brightly and a crescent moon was visible. It was hard to believe that she was scanning the sky waiting for men to return from hell.

It was just before two o'clock in the morning that the first rumble of a Lancaster's engines in the distance could be heard. The sound gradually became louder until the aeroplane was directly overhead making a circuit of the aerodrome whilst waiting for the landing signal from control. It switched on its landing lights and made its approach, touching down on the runway a few minutes later. Within minutes the sound of another aircraft could be heard and soon several were flying in circuits of the aerodrome, stacked up and waiting for their landing order.

Each time an aeroplane landed, Molly wondered which crew were on board, hoping it would be C for Charlie until finally, at two thirty she saw it taxiing towards them and being directed to the hard standing. One of the engines seemed to be out of action and she could see some superficial damage to the nearside wing but otherwise 'Charlie' seemed to be intact. The relief of seeing the aeroplane come to a halt and the crew slowly emerge one by one from the hatches was immense. Last out was Flight Lieutenant James. After dropping down onto the tarmac he stood still, hands on hips, eyes closed, head tilted back, simply drinking in the night air. He had taken his cap off and Molly could see that his dark hair was uncharacteristically tousled and unruly. He opened his eyes again and saw her looking at him. To cover her embarrassment she turned away and busied herself with her work. When she glanced back thirty seconds later he had moved off and was getting into the truck that would take the crew back to the de-briefing room.

It was quiet in the truck. Everyone was unscathed, at least on a superficial, physical level but inside each was coming to terms with what they had experienced. Returning to the still and quiet of a summer night in rural England was a shock to their senses. They had undergone a baptism of fire in every sense of the world and the realisation was dawning that they must repeat this process over and over again.

James reflected on what had passed. The flight across the North Sea had been uneventful. Mansfield and Nuttall, the air gunners, had fired off a few test shots and they had pressed on in formation until Kinders had called out,

"Enemy coast ahead."

As they crossed the coastline, James had reminded them,

"Keep your eyes peeled for night fighters." Although he knew the real danger often lay on the return journey.

Their route had been plotted to avoid known flak batteries on the coast of Holland but they had run into some unexpected trouble from a new battery unknown to intelligence. James knew this was not uncommon but thankfully they had been able to climb above the flak and out of harm's way. On reaching Hamburg the target had not been difficult to locate with the glow of the fire at its centre visible from a distance of ten miles and ringed by the white columns of light cast by searchlight batteries. The target markers appeared to have done their job well and bombing seemed to be concentrated in one area. James liked to take a little time before picking his route into the target. He circuited the area taking a good look at the searchlight positions and flak before making his bombing run. This was always the worse part of the operation. Flying straight and level at a set altitude whilst shells exploded around them, required nerves of steel. As they made their way to the target, they were all in the hands of the Bomb Aimer, Berry, who called instructions to James as they weaved their way to the target. The moment Berry announced, "Bombs gone" they all felt the aeroplane jerk upwards as the weight in the bomb bay was finally released and James could finally twist and turn the aeroplane away from the blinding lights that exposed them so dreadfully to enemy fire.

Sitting up front alongside the Captain, Smithy as Flight Engineer, had a grandstand view of all that transpired. He monitored the performance of everything mechanical on board and his knowledge of the workings of the aeroplane was essential in the event of trouble. There had been a sticky moment when the number two engine had packed up just before crossing the coast on the return journey, but they had shut it down and kept the aeroplane flying straight and level. James knew that the Lancaster was robust and the loss of one engine would only slow them a little.

In the debriefing room James was becoming painfully aware that this first operation for his new crew had been a bad one for the Squadron. There had been casualties. Two crews had failed to return, two had been forced down at bases near the coast due to damage incurred. A number of others had limped back to Milton with severely damaged engines and fuselage that would require substantial work to repair. James mechanically answered the questions put to him knowing exactly what information the debriefing officers were trying to elicit in order to build up a picture of air defences. He could see that the rest of the crew were numb, exhausted and shocked by what they had seen. He was also aware of the fatigue gradually creeping into his limbs. He was glad to leave debriefing, eat a meal in the mess and finally just before four in the morning make it to bed in his quarters, utterly exhausted.

At seven o'clock, Molly finally made her way across the aerodrome to the WAAF mess. As Jackie had predicted it had been a long night working on C for Charlie. The number two engine was out of action and it had taken a while to find the fault. Although now identified, they were waiting on a replacement part before the repairs could be concluded and the engine tested. The riggers had started on patching up the damage to the wings and fuselage and the electricians and wireless technicians were testing the wiring and equipment. For once, Corporal Barker had allowed Molly to get involved and she took the lack of disparaging comments from him to be a good sign. He had even gone so far as to utter,

"Not bad!" when inspecting a repair she had done.

There was no doubting Molly was tired and hungry as she entered the Mess, so much so, that even the normally unappealing sight of powdered scrambled eggs was welcome. She saw Jackie sitting by herself on the far side of the room with a vacant look on her face and an untouched cup of tea before her. Molly fetched herself a cup of tea and some food and wandered over to her.

"Can I join you?"

Jackie was startled but recovered her composure,

"Of course, sit down!"

Settling herself Molly said, "You looked lost in thought, just now."

Jackie nodded. "I was thinking about T for Tommy."

Molly understood. T for Tommy had failed to return last night. There was uncertainty about whether the aeroplane had been shot down over Germany or whether the crew had baled out.

"Did you know them?" Molly asked.

"Yes. You get to know everyone over time." She looked directly at Molly, a spark of life returning, "But you don't dwell on things like this. Other crews don't like it!"

It seemed to Molly that learning to cope with loss was a way of life here, whether you were a member of aircrew or ground crew. Losing faces in the mess and empty places at tables were all part of this job. However sad you felt, you had to carry on for the sake of those who remained.

"Anyway, " Jackie said more brightly, "It's time you were introduced to The White Horse in the village."

Molly gave her a confused sidelong glance. "You do realise that horse riding isn't something we do a lot of in the East End, don't you?"

Jackie laughed. "It's a pub, Molly! It looks like the Squadron's going to need two or three days to get up to strength, so a group of us are going down there this evening. Are you off duty later?"

Molly believed she would be and nodded.

"Good," Jackie said, "That's what you have to do when it's get tough here. Raise a glass to them all and carry on."

James woke late in the morning. The sun was streaming through the curtains in his room. He knew it was too late for breakfast and he hadn't been woken earlier to be told they would be on ops again tonight, so he knew it would be a day of inactivity. He decided he would take a stroll before lunch to check on 'Charlie' but knew that the rest of the day would be his own.

It was a fine summer's day, the sun was high in a clear blue sky and James enjoyed the walk across the aerodrome accompanied only by the sound of birdsong in the woods that surrounded the perimeter. There was a lot of activity in the hangars that day. He walked past a badly shot up Lancaster, D for Donald. He'd heard that the mid upper gunner had been killed on board and he could see a gaping hole in the fuselage where a shell had burst close to the aircraft. It was a miracle the pilot, Ramsey, had made it back. As he reached 'Charlie' he saw a familiar figure standing next to the aeroplane and called out,

"Morning, Smithy. How's she looking?"

Smithy spun around and saluted as he always did the first time he met James each day. James returned the salute and then they both relaxed, formalities for the day dispensed with.

"Not too bad, Skip!" He responded, "Damage is superficial and the engine will probably be ready for testing tomorrow. Mansfield's gun jammed but the erks are working on that. I guess we were lucky!"

At that moment, Molly clambered down from the port wing and wandered towards Smithy and James. James hadn't noticed her up there whilst they were talking.

"Just saying to the Skipper here, Molly, " Smithy called, "We were pretty lucky last night!"

Molly looked from one to the other remembering her conversation with Jackie that morning.

"Yes." She nodded but thinking about the casualties decided to say no more. She was surprised when James spoke up.

"Luck? Fate? Who knows? Everything's a matter of luck when you think about it. Where you're born, who your parents are where you end up in this war and who you end with." He smiled to himself and encouraged by his relaxed manner, Molly couldn't help adding,

"You're right there, Sir. I wanted to be a flight mechanic, alright, but that wouldn't have stopped them making me into a cook and I'm a ruddy terrible, just ask my mum!"

James turned to look at her and laughed. She had lightened the mood. His face was transformed by the smile. He looked younger, less stern and careworn as he laughed and for the first time she saw a pleasant young man.

"Well, Dawes, I suppose we should be grateful to the Air Ministry for getting it right on this occasion!" He quipped.

It was Molly's turn to laugh this time. She could see that there was lighter side to Flight Lieutenant James. It was evident that his crew not only respected him but liked him too. She had to admit that she was envious of the relaxed way that Smithy and James conversed. She'd noticed during the past few days that there was an easy camaraderie between crews irrespective of their rank. The pilot was the Captain of the crew in the air and made the ultimate decisions but outside the aircraft there was nothing more than a cursory observance of the formalities. A good captain listened to his crew and they worked very much as a team in the air and on the ground.

As Smithy and James were about to head back to the Mess for lunch Smithy called out to Molly,

"Are you going to The White Horse tonight?"

Molly nodded.

"We'll probably see you there, then." Smithy replied.

James watched the exchange without comment wondering again, briefly, just how friendly Smithy and Dawes were. They turned to head back across the aerodrome and Smithy said conversationally,

"What about you, Skip? Are you coming down this evening?"

James glanced at Smithy. Why not, he thought. It was always good for morale and after last night's trip which had been a difficult experience for them all, a morale boost was probably needed.

"I should think so." He replied, "Tell the chaps, the first round's on me."


	4. Chapter 4

Molly had scrubbed her fingernails with a nail brush and soap until they were almost red raw and had succeeded in removing the worst of the grease and grime that was ingrained in her skin. Holding her hands out in front of her, she thought that they looked presentable. It wasn't easy to keep your hands in a good condition doing her job. She wouldn't have chosen any other job on this station but she envied the hands of the clerical WAAF's and those on wireless and plotting duties. However, she wasn't alone in this, as she knew that Frances, the friendly WAAF cook who had lent her the bicycle, had just as many moans about the state of her hands which were dry, sore and red from the endless potato and vegetable peeling sessions with what she described as 'the bluntest set of peeling knives ever to grace a kitchen.'

Molly regarded herself in the mirror. She looked smart in her blue belted tunic and skirt. It was good to put on a proper uniform rather than her grimy, oily overalls. She had spent time neatly curling and pinning her shiny dark brown hair up into a victory roll ensuring it was clear of her collar and applied just the merest hint of lipstick and powder. Make up was scarce, having largely disappeared from the shops in 1940 and was only used sparingly for special occasions. She was pleased with the result. Jackie walked past her and stopped to look.

"Gosh, you look smart!"

Molly, couldn't help noticing that Jackie was equally transformed by her uniform. As much as they enjoyed their job, worked alongside men and mucked in with every dirty task they were given, they did sometimes like to remind themselves that they were actually women.

The White Horse public house, about a mile from the Station on the outskirts of the village of Banfield, was frequented by all station personnel. Almost any night of the week, RAF personnel could be found drinking there in the public or lounge bar. It only took Molly and Jackie about fifteen minutes to walk there along the hedge lined country lane that ran around the northern edge of the aerodrome perimeter. It was a beautiful summer evening and they chatted amiably about their homes and families and gossip on the station. Things were improving, Molly reflected, after a shaky start at the beginning of the week.

The pub was busy and already customers were standing two or three or deep at the bar. It was hot and stuffy and there were clouds of cigarette smoke inside. Drinkers were spilling outside into the fresher, cooler air, standing in small groups and chatting. Entering the pub, Jackie grabbed Molly by the wrist and dragged her to the bar like a seasoned professional, calling out in a loud, clear voice,

"Two thirsty girls over here, Harry!" The landlord turned his head and winked at Jackie and she succeeded in getting herself served in record time. Molly was impressed.

"It's not what you know; it's who you know that counts!" Jackie told her adding, "I helped Harry's son fix his motorcycle a few months ago."

Shortly afterwards they made their way outside nursing two glasses of gin.

"Phew!" Molly said, "Is it always that busy?"

"Quite often." Jackie confirmed, "Particularly, with no one on ops tonight."

They were soon joined by some other WAAF's and chatted pleasantly although Molly didn't know the other women. Looking over to her right she caught sight of a young blond-haired girl sitting by herself near the door of the pub. She was wearing a faded summer dress which looked a bit too small for her and was sitting on an old stone mounting block near the front door. She looked very bored. Jackie saw Molly looking in the girl's direction.

"That's Hattie." She informed her.

"What's she doing here? Shouldn't she be at home?" Molly asked feeling concerned and thinking about her own little sister.

"Her Dad'll be inside, somewhere near the bar." Jackie replied, "And I don't think her mum's around anymore." She pulled a face, "Between you, me and the gatepost I think her Dad's a bit of a bad lot."

Molly felt sorry for the little girl. Jackie had turned back to the others and Molly wandered over to her and bent down to speak to her.

"Hello you, what's your name?" She asked even though she knew already.

The girl looked up in surprise, her big blue eyes staring at Molly.

"Hattie." She said so quietly that Molly hardly heard the response.

"How do you do! I'm Molly." She held out her hand and the girl tentatively grasped it looking bemused.

"How old are you, Hattie?"

"Eleven."

Molly smiled broadly at her,

"I've got a little sister who's eleven. She's called Bella." There was no response from the girl, so Molly continued, "I haven't seen her for a while because she's down in Somerset. She was evacuated because we live in London." She saw a spark of interest in the girl's face and she gazed up at Molly.

"My dad says we're going to go to London."

"Oh, you'll have to let me know when you're going, I'll take you round and show you the sights!" Molly joked.

Hattie didn't smile.

"What're you going to do there, then, visit family?" She continued trying to find a way to start some conversation.

The girl looked nervous.

"Nothing." She muttered.

At that moment a tall, dark haired man in his late thirties, dressed in a rather flashy suit and trilby hat set at a jaunty angle, came out of the pub and strode up to Hattie. He caught her by the arm.

"Oi, Hattie, come on, we're off!"

The girl hastily jumped down and casting a glance at Molly followed on behind the man and Molly assumed that this must be her father. She watched him leave with the girl trailing behind him. Jackie's words came back to her and she reflected that she had lived in the East End long enough to recognise a spiv when she saw one.

Shortly afterwards, Molly saw the crew of 'Charlie' arriving, everyone except Flight Lieutenant James. They greeted her and Jackie as they passed them before going into the pub to get a drink. There was a delay of ten minutes or so before they returned during which time some soldiers from the training camp five miles away turned up in a truck. It was unusual to see anyone other than a few locals and RAF personnel at The White Horse and they attracted some attention. Unfortunately, one of the men seemed to have noticed Molly standing with the group of WAAF's outside and decided he would come over and chat to her. As he wandered over to her she got the distinct impression that this wasn't the first pub the soldier had visited that evening and as he spoke she could hear him slurring his words.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Molly raised her half-full glass towards him,

"No thanks, I've still got one. Why don't you go in and buy yourself one?" She said making eyes at Jackie and hoping to get rid of him. He didn't take the hint but moved in a little closer and bent down to whisper rather loudly in her ear,

"What do you say to you and me going for a little walk?" At the same moment he slipped his arm around Molly's waist and grasping her a little too tightly tried to pull her towards him. The drink in her glass sloshed onto the ground and the east end girl in Molly escaped,

"Oi, mate. Take your hands off me!" With her free hand she pushed him away from her and he staggered slightly. He looked angry and Molly was about to unleash another verbal onslaught when from behind her she heard Smithy's voice say,

"The lady's just told you to leave her alone."

"That's no lady, Taffy!" Drink had fuelled the soldier's anger and he took a step back towards Molly but Smithy was too quick for him. The punch hit the soldier squarely on the jaw and he staggered again and fell onto the ground. One of the WAAFs screamed. Other people started turning around to look. Three of the other soldiers came rushing over and Nuttall and Mansfield, beer glasses still in hand, approached menacingly behind Smithy. Out of the corner of her eye Molly could see Smithy shaking his hand, obviously in pain from the punch he had delivered.

"For god's sake, Smithy!" she turned on him and hissed angrily, "He's just drunk!" At that moment, the soldier got to his feet and made towards Smithy again. Smithy ran at him and rammed into him knocking him to the ground for a second time. Something seemed to have been unleashed in Smithy, a hidden fury that seemed out of proportion to what had occurred. He set about the soldier on the ground, his fists flying and Molly was genuinely afraid for what he might do.

"Stop him, someone!" she called out just as Kinders waded in, along with two of the soldier's friends, to drag Smithy away.

"That's enough!" Kinders bellowed at him. Smithy stood up breathing hard and sweating. He was very far from calm and looked as though he might start a fight with Kinders as well until Berry told him to

"Pull yourself together, the Skip'll be here in a minute."

The soldier was dragged to his feet by his friends and after a few glaring looks in their direction and a brief discussion they wisely decided to leave, climbing back into the truck and driving away.

Molly was still staring at Smithy, shocked at his reaction. She couldn't believe this was all about her. The soldier had had been a bit of nuisance but nothing she couldn't handle. She was young but she'd grown up in the East End of London, which wasn't known for its observance of the niceties of polite society. Eight months in the WAAF had also been an education. She had mixed with all types of women from the top drawer of society down to some with whom even her mother wouldn't want her to associate; Elsie a prostitute trying to escape life on the game, sprang immediately to mind. She could handle herself in situations such as these and she looked at Smithy with a degree of annoyance. She didn't want him behaving like that simply because they'd once shared a brief kiss. She was about to give him a piece of her mind when she heard the now familiar sound of a sports car approaching and saw Flight Lieutenant James pull up outside the pub.

Striding towards his crew, James had the distinct impression that something was going on. They all looked ill at ease, particularly Smithy. He also caught sight of Dawes standing nearby, looking anxious and he noted with surprise that she was looking rather different than usual being dressed in her uniform instead of the shapeless, dirty overalls that were her normal attire. It was a definite improvement. He called out,

"What's this, chaps, a welcoming committee?"

Kinders was the first to speak feigning nonchalance, "Just waiting for you, Skip."

"I'm honoured, Gentlemen." James continued in the same tone, not fooled in the least. "Lead on!" he gestured towards the pub entrance and the crew filed in. James paused next to Molly,

"Dawes, I believe I'm still in your debt. Would you accept a drink as payment? I can see you have an empty glass." He smiled at her. She was still shaken by what had occurred with Smithy and almost without thinking responded.

"Yes, thank you, Sir."

He politely gestured for her to go into the pub and she found the crew at the bar ordering more drinks.

"What's your poison?" James asked Molly.

She was momentarily confused and unsure what to request but plumped for another gin as it was the only drink with which she was familiar, although memories of the last time she'd had a couple of gins came flooding back when she caught sight of Smithy. He still looked flushed and not quite under control. The crew were chatting and trying to make small talk but it seemed rather forced. Molly didn't know whether to stay where she was or go back to the group of WAAFs but it seemed rude to wander off so she hovered next to the crew feeling a little out of place.

The crowd in the pub had thinned out and Nuttall suggested a game of darts. Smithy was told by Kinders that he was _going_ to play rather than asked and the six crew members wandered over to the darts board to start up the game. James turned around to watch, resting his elbows on the bar. Molly stayed next to him even more at ill at ease now that the rest of the crew had moved away.

James gave Molly a quick sidelong glance. He noticed her hair was styled differently and that it suited her swept up and away from her face. She glanced in his direction and he noted the rather beautiful expression of her green eyes. She was a prettier girl than he had appreciated. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head he told himself to stop these thoughts. She was just a flight mechanic on the ground crew and he was thanking her for a favour. To dispel any other thoughts he said,

"I got the feeling something was wrong when I arrived. Did you notice anything, Dawes?"

He saw her mouth open and then close again as if she had been about to say something but had changed her mind. He knew he was right.

"You might as well tell me, Dawes, because if you don't someone else will." He looked directly at her and she was conscious again of the power of those brown eyes staring at her. He held her in his gaze and she knew she couldn't lie.

"Smithy had a disagreement with a soldier just before you arrived."

James raised his eyebrows at the word 'disagreement'.

"I'm guessing that's a euphemism, Dawes."

She looked at him blankly, "I'm sorry, Sir?"

He rephrased the question. "Did he have a fight, Dawes, because he was certainly looking a bit hot under the collar about something?" He was looking at her again expecting a direct answer.

"He's a good chap, Sir. He was only trying to help me. He was just a bit heavy handed. I expect it's just being on the op yesterday. It can't be easy after what happened with his brother."

James shot her a surprised look. He didn't realise that she knew about Geraint.

Molly hadn't wanted to tell Flight Lieutenant James any of this. She had been angry with Smithy after the fight but she didn't want to get him into any trouble. James had fallen silent and was watching the crew playing darts. Smithy glanced over in their direction but he wasn't smiling.

"Well, thank you, Dawes." James stood upright, "I think I'd better join in with the game, now." He picked up his glass and wandered over to the darts board and Molly wandered back outside to find Jackie.

It was starting to get dark and after a while, the WAAFs decided to set off back to the station. Molly collected a handful of empty glasses and took them inside, back to the bar. The game of darts had finished and five of the crew were sitting at a table in the corner dealing out a pack of cards. Glancing around she caught sight of Flight Lieutenant James and Smithy standing in a corner by the bar having an apparently serious conversation. She caught Smithy's eye as she walked to the bar and he returned what she could only describe as a glare. She felt distinctly uncomfortable. She left the pub and returned to her friends and together they started the walk back to RAF Milton.


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as Molly entered the workshop next to the hangar the following morning she knew something was wrong. Although during the past week her presence seemed to have been accepted as a necessary evil, she normally came and went about her business with little interest being shown by anyone else in the ground crew. The only time they showed any interest in her was when they wanted something fetched from the stores on the opposite side of the aerodrome in which case she was invariably their first choice to send, particularly in bad weather. At least she had now managed to secure herself a highly prized bicycle having purchased one from a WAAF being posted to another station. The journey across the aerodrome took considerably less time so a trip to the stores was less onerous than it had once been.

This morning she was conscious that the rest of the ground crew had been waiting for her to arrive. As she walked through the door she heard some sniggering and a stifled laugh. Her first thought was that they were about to play a trick on her. She was surprised it hadn't happened sooner as she had heard of other WAAFs being subjected to practical jokes. She looked warily around her and opened up her toolbox gingerly expecting a large spider or a frog to jump out at her but everything looked the same as usual. She told herself she must be imagining things and walked over to Corporal Barker to find out which duties had been assigned to her.

"Morning, Corporal. What would you like me to do today?" She enquired

She was surprised when instead of reeling off a list of instructions without so much as a cursory glance at her, he lowered the clipboard he was holding and gave her a searching look. She was sure he was smirking as well.

"Just the usual, Dawes."

She heard laughter from the back of the workshop and felt confused.

"Have I done something, Corporal?"

He looked her straight in the eye and leaned nearer to her.

"Quite a lot I understand and you're not fussy who it's with!" The tone of his voice was unmistakeable.

Molly was so shocked by his words and their inference that she couldn't speak. She felt her face starting to burn scarlet but the embarrassment that she felt at his suggestion was matched by her indignation. She wanted to refute his words right here and now but she knew all too well, that she was in a difficult position as she was a part of this team and would have to continue working with all of them. In contradiction of everything her anger was telling her to do, she decided to ignore what Corporal Barker had just said and carry on in feigned innocence as if she didn't understand what he was suggesting.

Barker handed her a list of jobs to do and she busied herself with them trying to forget his words but more than once she felt tears pricking her eyes and her hand shook so much she had to put down her tools and recompose herself. She couldn't think why Corporal Barker would say such a thing to her. She had realised that there might be some comments about the events at The White Horse last night, particularly Smithy getting into a fight, but to say this to her was incomprehensible. Someone must have told lies about her. It was mortifying to think that a man like Corporal Barker believed she was a girl of loose morals. She might not have grown up in the best neighbourhood or be able to claim that she had 'never been kissed' but she and any other self-respecting girl of her class knew where to draw the line. She was definitely not another Annie, no matter what they might suggest.

Later that morning the crew of Charlie arrived for a test flight as the repairs to the number two engine were finished. Molly watched them jump down from the transport that had brought them out here. They were happily chatting amongst themselves. Flight Lieutenant James was talking to Corporal Barker. Molly wandered out of the hangar towards them. She smiled in their direction and hoped to exchange a few friendly words with someone after such an unpleasant morning but as she approached the group she noticed that they seemed to fall silent. She looked over at Smithy and saw him avert his gaze. He wasn't smiling. The penny dropped and she didn't know whether to be more mortified or angry. She turned away without speaking to any of them and quickly walked back into the hangar. She knew now; it was all Smithy's fault.

James caught sight of Molly walking back into the hangar. It was more of a stomp than a walk, he thought and he'd noticed the way his crew seemed to have ignored her despite chatting with her in a friendly manner yesterday evening. He was at a loss to know why they were behaving that way and made a mental note to ask Smithy about it later.

Molly had gone to the WAAF mess for an early lunch. Another informal rule that seemed to be applied to her, was that she should always take the least unpopular break times. She entered the mess full of trepidation and sure enough she had not walked very far before she was given one or two second looks by other WAAFs seated there. She was relieved to see Jackie and waved at her to get her attention. Jackie nodded and came over.

"What _have_ you been up to?" Was her initial greeting.

Molly's heart sank. "Not you as well!"

Jackie smiled at her reassuringly, "Don't worry. I know a bit of unfounded gossip when I hear it! You've just got to rise above it!"

Molly tried to return her smile but she felt like crying and Jackie could see she was upset.

"Come outside." She suggested and they left the building and found a quiet spot around the back of mess away from others.

"It's all lies!" Molly burst out. "It's Smithy, he's gone around making up lies about me. I saw him this morning and he couldn't even look at me."

Jackie looked perplexed. "What did you do to upset him?"

"Nothing!" As soon as she had said it, she realised that Smithy thought she _had_ done something. She remembered the look he'd thrown her yesterday in the pub when she had seen him talking with Flight Lieutenant James. He thought she had landed him in trouble. She was determined to have this out with him as soon as she possible and set him straight.

"Just do me a favour will you, Jackie?" Molly pleaded, "Tell anyone you hear gossiping about me that it's not true." She had been around the RAF long enough even in her short time to realise that rumours spread like wild fire whether they were true or not.

It was a short test flight and everything seemed in order. James and his crew returned to the aerodrome in time for lunch. After disembarking the crew got back into the truck which took them back to the Mess. James declined the offer of a lift as he wanted to speak to Barker about his car. They conversed amicably for a while before James decided to head back to the Mess on foot, as there was little chance of cadging a lift with anyone. He was part of the way across the aerodrome when he encountered Molly coming from the opposite direction on her bicycle. Seeing James, she slowed down and assumed that she would have to salute him. As she drew near, she stopped her bicycle and got off. He was surprised when she saluted but returned it and stopped walking, feeling inclined to share a few words.

"Well Dawes, you'll be pleased to hear my car is still working perfectly!" He smiled at her but she seemed distracted and he didn't get the cheeky reply he had been anticipating. As much as it was not his responsibility to enquire after the welfare of a lowly ranked member of ground crew he couldn't help asking, "Is everything alright, Dawes?"

She wanted to lie and just say something like 'why wouldn't it be?' but a response of that kind to a senior officer had an insubordinate ring to it. She wanted to say, everything would be fine if Smithy hadn't told lies about her but settled for.

"Just a little bit of bother, Sir."

James knew that he ought to leave the conversation here. His better judgment was telling him not to enquire further but he could see she was upset and it somehow seemed wrong to just ignore this.

"Anything in particular?"

He saw her swallow hard before replying,

"Something to do with Smithy."

He had been wondering about their friendship for a couple of days and now he recalled her reluctance to tell him about Smithy's behaviour last night. He'd heard later that Smithy had over enthusiastically leapt to her defence which from the little he knew of Dawes, probably hadn't been needed. When James had spoken to Smithy in the pub last night about his behaviour and told him to keep himself under control he could tell that it had rankled with him even though he had covered it as well as he could. Now he understood the silence this morning and Molly's stomp into the hangar. There had obviously been a falling out between them. He supposed it was a tiff that would blow over.

"I'm sure it will sort itself out, Dawes." It was a bland offering and he knew it. He could see that it had done little to improve her mood. To change the subject he said,

"How do you like it here?" From the way she looked at him he could tell it was not the wisest question he could have asked today. "The work?" He added quickly.

"I like the work, Sir." Molly responded,

"It's just the company, then?" James continued. "I don't suppose you thought it would be like this when you joined up."

Molly shrugged, "I don't know how I thought it would be. I just really wanted to work with aeroplanes."

"Ditto!" He replied as much to himself as to her.

_Ditto_, Molly thought to herself, what on earth did that mean? James must have seen the look on her face,

"I've always loved flying. I just didn't think I'd end up ferrying bombs to Germany or anywhere else!" He'd already said much more than he had intended but he saw a flicker of interest in her face.

"Do you ever wonder about the people on the ground when you're dropping bombs over there? I know that it happened to us, but does it make it right to do the same thing ourselves?" she asked.

He looked directly at her, his expression serious.

"I can't think about it, Dawes. I just have to do the job I'm here for and try to get myself and my crew safely to the end of their tour." A silence fell between them. It began to feel awkward until James said,

"Run along, Dawes. Aren't you expected back?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir." Mounted her bicycle and rode away.

James watched her go. He exhaled deeply. In spite of everything he told himself, she was beginning to get under his skin. He wasn't sure what it was about her that drew his interest. Every time he thought he'd got her pinned down in his mind, she did something unexpected that challenged him. First she had been another loud-mouthed cockney about to cause trouble, but she'd shown him she had a real talent with engines and went about her work with diligence. Then she had shown sensitivity in trying to defend a hot-headed member of his crew from trouble and now she was questioning the rights and wrongs of strategic bombing in spite of having first-hand experience of being under attack. He shook his head. _Stop thinking about her and focus on your job._ He was glad of the long walk back to clear his mind. When he finally entered the mess, he was ready for his lunch even if it was likely to be whale meat or some such monstrosity that now passed for edible fare. He hadn't gone more than ten paces before he encountered, Ramsay, the pilot of D for Donald which had limped home to Milton severely damaged two nights ago.

"Heard about that WAAF Mechanic on your ground crew?" He asked with eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face.

"What about her?" James replied, curious as to what was to follow.

"Apparently, she's fairly free and easy with her favours, if you know what I mean?" Ramsay said conspiratorially.

James knew exactly what he was implying and it shed light on the conversation he had just had with Molly.

"This is the latest news, is it?" He looked straight at Ramsay without a hint of amusement.

"Just saying, old boy. Lightening does strike twice." Ramsay backed off and went to get himself a beer.

James shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Bloody gossips!"

The following morning the Squadron was confined to the station and that afternoon the aircrew were prepared for another operation by going through the pre-flight briefings. The target was Milan. James knew it would be a long flight south across the Alps and mentally prepared himself for the long hours of boredom flying in the darkness. They were two or three bombers down but had raised sufficient strength to participate in the raid. Everything went off without a hitch. Flak had been light, only a couple of lone night fighters had been encountered and damage had been superficial. Everyone had made it back and the crew had returned in reasonably good spirits

For Molly it had been a very long two days. She had hoped that the insults and jibes about her would die down, but the other members of the ground crew seemed to find it just as funny to make suggestive remarks to her now as they had on the first day. She was trying to take Jackie's advice and rise above it, but the strain was getting to her. In spite of how Smithy and the crew had behaved towards her she had still worried about them when they were on the Operation. She had stood in the same place as the first raid and waved C for Charlie off as it prepared for take-off. With the sun setting behind the aircraft she had seen Flight Lieutenant James in the cockpit waving back and felt glad that he had seen her.

The morning after the raid the usual checks were carried out on Charlie but the aircraft was found to be in good condition. James had experienced no problems on the raid and there was minimal repair work to do. In the late morning James and Smithy turned up as was their usual habit to inspect the aircraft and consult with the ground crew. Molly had endured several comments today already and no matter how much she told herself not to listen it still hurt her. She kept out of the way and after fifteen minutes or so she saw Smithy start to walk back across the aerodrome. Ten minutes later, Corporal Barker, called her over and told her to go to the stores.

She set off on her bicycle glad to get away from the rest of the ground crew. She was about half way across the aerodrome very near to the end of the runway when she saw Smithy ahead of her. She thought of everything she had put up with during the last few days and the injustice of it boiled over in her mind. Catching up with him, she shouted loudly.

"Smithy!" He turned his head and stopped.

"What do you want?" He replied sullenly not catching her eye.

She got off of her bicycle. "I want to ask you why you said such disgusting things about me to everyone?" Her eyes were blazing with fury.

"Well, why did you go blabbing your mouth to the Skipper about me?" He retorted.

"It weren't like that!" She shouted back, "I didn't want to tell him anything. He knew something had happened and he was going to find out from someone."

"Oh yes!" Smithy glared at her, "So you told him I was out of control!"

Molly glared at him. "I didn't say anything of the kind."

"I was trying to help you." Smithy said angrily.

Molly was incensed, "I don't need that kind of help. Knocking seven bells out of someone because he's drunk and clumsy and can't take no for an answer. I aint exactly the shy and retiring type, Smithy!"

They stared at each other in anger. There was a rumbling sound in the distance but they were too intent on their argument to pay any attention.

"Do you know what you've done telling everyone that I'm some sort of loose woman. You've ruined everything here for me."

"Well, if the cap fits!" Smithy replied petulantly

Molly had never felt the urge to punch a man more than she did at this moment. Her hands were already clenched ready to strike.

The rumbling sound became a roar and Smithy and Molly turned at the same moment to see a Lancaster in severe trouble, its port wing listing dangerously. It was approaching the runway, falling rapidly towards the ground and was just yards away from them. Instinctively, they threw themselves flat onto the ground, burying their faces into the earth as the Lancaster skimmed the perimeter fence only about ten feet above their heads. It hit the ground just short of the runway without its landing gear down and skidded and bumped along the grass towards the tarmacked runway. The listing port wing sheared off as it made first contact with the ground. There were terrible screeching and tearing sounds and thousands of sparks flying from the friction of metal on concrete. One of the engines burst into flame as the remains of the aeroplane came to rest tipped over on its side about two hundred yards from where Smithy and Molly were lying.

Smithy jumped to his feet, grabbed Molly's bicycle and raced down the runway towards the aeroplane. Molly instinctively, ran after him but was hindered by her overalls. She knew that others would be running from all over the aerodrome to help, but she and Smithy were the closest and it was a race against time.

Smithy had reached the aeroplane and thrown down her bicycle. There was a hole in the fuselage big enough for a man to walk through. He entered the aeroplane. A column of black smoke was billowing out of it and there was a strong smell of fuel. Molly saw an airman staggering out and ran to help him. He leaned heavily on her and she dragged him some distance away before he collapsed onto the grass. She looked back at the aeroplane; there was no sign of Smithy. From inside the aeroplane she heard the sound of small explosions. Even in this anxious state she reasoned that it must be the gun ammunition exploding in the heat. In the distance she could see other people approaching and she knew the fire wagon would get here soon but where was Smithy? She started to run back to the aeroplane. She could hear someone shouting, but she needed to find Smithy and get him out.

James had heard and seen the Lancaster, D for Donald which had not taken part in the Milan raid, returning from its test flight after substantial repair work. He had noticed Smithy and Molly standing near the end of the runway talking and as the stricken Lancaster swept in he had seen them throw themselves on the ground to get out of its way. The sickening noise of the crash had brought personnel running from every direction of the station and he himself had started running towards the crash site. Smithy and Molly were nearest to the crash. He saw them reaching the aircraft. James knew how dangerous this situation was. Smoke was billowing from the aeroplane, flames were already coming from one of the engines and there could be an explosion at any moment. He started shouting at Molly, to keep back from the aircraft but she was too far away to hear. Then he saw her enter the fuselage.

Inside the aircraft it was black with smoke and it was hard to see. Molly put her hand over her mouth and nose and stumbled over twisted metal, bits of wood and the remains of the mid upper gun. She shouted,

"Smithy!" There was no reply.

She was conscious of the sickening sound of flames licking the exterior of the fuselage.

"Smithy!" This time she heard a noise on the ground to her right. She felt in front of her and touched someone's leg.

"Is that you, Smithy?" she shouted.

"My leg's hurt, Molly, bloody ammunition exploded next to me." He was gasping in pain. "Get the pilot, he's just behind me." Molly reached beyond him and found someone else slumped there.

"Get up, Sir," She shouted, "You've got to get out!" The man struggled to his feet and Molly grasped him firmly by the jacket lapels and pulled him towards the opening from where the smoke was billowing. The pilot was clearly dazed and there was blood running from a nasty gash on his forehead. She helped him to get ten yards clear of the aeroplane before turning to go back. This time she heard someone shouting,

"Dawes, don't go back in there!"

She had to get Smithy out, the engine was burning more fiercely and she was sure it would explode at any moment. The smoke was even thicker now, but she relocated Smithy and in spite of his groans of pain started to drag him through the fuselage. She was small and although he wasn't the tallest member of the crew he was solidly build. It took all her strength to move him inch by inch towards the opening. As she finally reached the opening other hands grasped him and pulled him through. She staggered out and heard Flight Lieutenant James calling,

"Get away from there. Now!" She started to run clear and was about twenty yards away from the crash site when she was thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion.

The Medical Officer said that she had been lucky. Beyond a few superficial cuts and bruises to her face and arms Molly was unhurt. She had inhaled quite a bit of smoke but he said that the coughing would ease off in a day or so. Smithy, by contrast, had a leg wound caused by small arms ammunition exploding. It would need some time for it to heal, but the M.O. seemed confident he would make a full recovery. The Pilot, Ramsay, was concussed. One other crew member, the first one Molly had assisted, had only superficial injuries. However, the Navigator had been killed outright. The M.O. saw no need to keep Molly in the sick bay and said she could return to her quarters.

"Can I see, Smithy?" She asked.

"I don't see why not." The M.O. replied, "But don't stay too long."

Smithy was lying in bed. He was conscious but had been given morphine and seemed a bit drowsy. When Molly approached him he smiled at her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Fine. No pain. M.O. says it's not serious and I'll be alright after a spot of sick leave."

"That's good!" Molly agreed.

Smithy looked suddenly more serious.

"I need to say thank you. You got me out of there and you saved my life."

"Don't be daft." Molly replied.

"I mean it." Smithy said, "You saved my life and well, I'm going to make it up to you for what I said before and I'm going to come back to you."

Molly was taken aback, "Come back to me?"

"Well, back to the crew, when I'm fit again."

She grinned at him. "Good."

Molly was about to leave when Smithy held out his hand to her. Seeing him injured and vulnerable in a hospital bed it seemed churlish to decline. She reached out and grasped his hand.

"Can we be friends again?" He asked earnestly.

She nodded. "Yes. Friends!"

As Smithy had fallen asleep Molly left the room. She made her way along the corridor thinking only of the possibility of getting a bath to wash away the dirt and grime. She pulled open the door to the Hospital and was startled by Flight Lieutenant James entering the building. She stood back out of the way to let him pass but he stopped in front of her and looked her up and down. She was still dressed in her work overalls which were now covered in soot, engine fuel and even splatters of blood. He took a deep breath and crossed his arms

"Did you hear me shouting at you not to go into that fuselage, Dawes?"

Molly looked him directly in the eye. She couldn't read the expression on his face.

"No, Sir!" They regarded each other for a few seconds. He knew she was lying and she realised he didn't believe her.

"Some people would probably describe your actions today as reckless and foolhardy." He continued.

She supposed he was right, "Yes, Sir."

"But you saved two men's lives today. You should be proud." She smiled gratefully but another thought came to her mind and it was enough to cloud the moment of happiness. She needed to say something.

"Some people have been telling lies about me. Saying things about how I behave around men." She felt extremely embarrassed, but she had to say this and she looked him full in the face. "It's not true."

He smiled at her. "I know. I've heard every bit of station gossip doing the rounds here for the past two years and I'd be surprised if more than a fraction of it was true. I don't give credence to many of the rumours I hear. Don't let a few name callers upset you. Besides, you've given them all something else to think about today. You're a good flight mechanic and you're doing a good job here. Just concentrate on that." She smiled at him. For some reason it mattered to her that he knew the truth.

"Now, Dawes. I think you might just find a drink lined up for you in the Mess." She grinned at him and turning hurried away. After she'd gone he found himself smiling as well.

His heart had been in his mouth when he'd seen her go back into that burning aeroplane. He knew she'd heard him shouting at her and at the time he had been angry that she'd ignored him; a senior officer. However, when he'd seen her emerge again, dragging Smithy he had also acknowledged to himself that what she had done had been awe inspiring. There was so much more to Molly Dawes than met the eye and he was only just beginning to appreciate it.

**_Author's Note: The fictional rescue portrayed in this chapter is inspired by a true event that occurred on 31st May 1940 when WAAF Corporal Joan Pearson rescued a pilot from a burning bomber which had crashed on take-off whilst laden with bombs. She went into the fuselage, released the stunned pilot from his harness and helped him out of the aeroplane as well as shielding him with her own body when a 120lb exploded. She was awarded the Empire Gallantry Medal which was later exchanged for the George Cross._**


	6. Chapter 6

In the weeks following the crash of D for Donald, Molly noticed a marked difference in the way she was treated by those around her. She was no longer subjected to the ribald humour of the rest of the ground crew and was certainly no longer the catalyst for such jokes. She had been given more responsibility for working on the Lancaster's engines as Corporal Barker had finally realised that her claims of being good at her job were well founded. A couple of the older members of the ground crew had even shown a willingness to share their extensive knowledge with her and taken more of an interest in helping rather than hindering her. Flight Lieutenant James had been right when he said she had given everyone something else to think about. Jackie had been the first to say,

"I told you, Molly Dawes, you'd show them all!"

The Station Commander had publicly praised her for her actions. She was pleased, of course, because it mattered to her that others thought well of her, although the death of D for Donald's navigator had naturally overshadowed that feeling. The crash had been investigated but the results were inconclusive. Engine and mechanical failure were suspected although pilot error hadn't been ruled out either. Ramsay's recovery from concussion had been compounded by nervous strain, the result of fifteen previous operations, the disastrous Hamburg raid in which he had lost his mid upper gunner and now the crash and the loss of his navigator. There seemed little likelihood of him returning to the Squadron in the near future.

Smithy had been moved to an RAF hospital thirty miles away where his wounds could be more appropriately treated. He had been fortunate and although the wound had looked fairly unpleasant it had proved to be reasonably superficial and was healing well. However, for a few weeks the crew of C for Charlie would have to accept a replacement Flight Engineer, Basil Wilson, a cheeky young man from Essex and known to them all as Bas.

C for Charlie had flown only four operations in the past four weeks which was not a good average for mid-summer when two or three operations a week ought to have been possible. Two additional operations had been scrubbed at the last minute due to poor cloud cover over the target. Some crews found these occasions worse than actually going on the raid. The hours of tension and mental preparation resulting in nothing but a void of inactivity played havoc with their nerves. Unfortunately, a spell of unseasonal, wet, windy and stormy conditions had also prevented any flights for almost a week. Of the four operations they had completed two had been considered reasonably straightforward with light flak, little damage to any of the aircraft and no injuries to the crews. They had lost one bomber on the third raid to Mannheim due to a collision over the target with a bomber from another squadron. These losses were a painful reality of mass bombing raids where waves of bombers followed in close succession and the traffic around the target could be substantial.

The last operation had been the worst. When the target had been revealed as Dortmund in the Ruhr valley or 'Happy Valley' as the crews cynically referred to it, the groans and complaints around the briefing hall had been enough to cause the C.O. consternation. He was used to grumblings but this had been excessive. Bomber command had carried out an intensified period of raids on the Ruhr valley since March. As the industrial heartland of Germany, the Ruhr produced weapons, tanks, locomotives and munitions to feed the German war machine and was heavily defended by radar guided anti-aircraft guns and night fighters. In addition, industrial haze in the area caused poor visibility making accurate bombing more difficult, even with the Pathfinder squadrons flying ahead of the main bomber streams to mark the targets.

It had been a large raid with over five hundred bombers taking part. To make matters worse, the Squadron had been assigned to the least favoured low stream of the attack at fifteen thousand feet. With three streams at different heights separated by two minute intervals, the lowest stream was the most dangerous place to be not only because of risk of being hit by flak from the ground but also of falling bombs from above.

James had had a bad feeling about the raid and it had been justified. Two aeroplanes from the Squadron had turned back before reaching the target due to engine trouble. One had made it back to Milton in poor condition having been hit by flak over the coast. The other had ditched in the sea. This was greatest fear of most crews. They knew that even if they survived the landing in the sea and managed to get clear of the aircraft before it sank; their chances of survival were still slim. Even in summer, hypothermia often claimed the lives of those in the water too long and the chances of being picked up by air sea rescue were still very low even if the pilot had been able to signal his last position before ditching. A third aircraft had failed to make it to target having been shot down by a night fighter en route.

The anti-aircraft fire over the target was severe and although Charlie had made it through the bomb run and delivered its bomb load on target, there had been a lot of damage to the port wing and some to the fuselage. Mansfield had sustained some superficial injuries to his head from shrapnel but had gamely stayed at his rear gun throughout the raid. James had fought the aircraft controls all the way back to Milton trying to keep the aircraft straight and level, constantly fearful that they may come under further night fighter attack until they had cleared the coast of Holland and the risk lessened. In their weakened state he didn't fancy their chances of out- manoeuvring an ME 109. Although Charlie had handled abominably all the way home, remarkably all four engines had functioned well and thankfully the landing gear had descended without any issues and they had made a decent landing.

After taxiing to the dispersal area and disembarking James, alongside the rest of the crew and ground crew, had surveyed the damage to the aircraft and were astonished at the fact they had made it back in one piece. Others had been less fortunate. The losses and damage from the Dortmund raid had brought the squadron's activities to a halt again and morale was low.

Molly had been shocked by the sight of Charlie when it arrived back from Dortmund but thankful as ever that it was back safely and all those on board alive and well allowing for the cuts to Mike Mansfield's head. She always stood at the dispersal point for take-off now whenever Charlie left. It was her ritual and she felt she couldn't and shouldn't change anything. It was superstition pure and simple and she knew it, but if it was one ounce of help to the crew she would carry on doing it until their tour was over, God willing.

The day after the Dortmund raid, Smithy returned to the Station. His wounds had healed, he was able to walk without any discomfort and the M.O. was keen to get him back into service with as little delay as possible. Smithy found Kinders and Fingerson sitting in the Sergeants mess enjoying a quiet beer before lunch.

"You got your bloody timing right, Smithy!" Kinders called out to him as he walked through the door.

Smithy approached smiling and shook hands with both of them.

"It's good to see you." He said genuinely glad that they were both here and well. "I heard Dortmund was a bit sticky!" Understatement was the accepted line of defence whenever situations were too unpleasant to recount.

"That's about right!" Fingerson agreed.

"Everyone alright?" Smithy enquired.

They told him about Mike Mansfield's minor injury and then about the Squadron being stood down whilst repairs were made.

"It looks like it will be a week or so. Still the good news," Kinders informed him, "Is that the C.O. has decided to hold a Station Dance on Friday. He thinks it will be good for morale."

The grounding of the Squadron had meant a lot of extra work for the ground crew but in spite of this, Molly was able to go into Banfield on the Tuesday afternoon. It made a change to get away from the station for a few hours. She and Jackie managed to get some time off together and walked into the village chiefly because Jackie had heard a rumour that 'Walkers', the general store, had obtained some lipstick and she was keen to find out if there was any to be purchased, having used the very last smear of lipstick months ago.

"I'm fed up with using beetroot juice." She moaned to Molly on the way to Banfield, "I _hate_ beetroots!"

Once they reached Banfield, they went their separate ways agreeing to meet in the tea rooms in an hour. Molly strolled through the village enjoying the peace. It was a million miles away from the bustling part of London in which she had grown up. When she had first joined the WAAF and been posted to a basic training station in the country it had felt like another world. The quiet, green fields, woods, farm animals and lack of public transport had all been very alien to her. But now she had begun to appreciate its beauty. She realised that her own brothers and sisters living down in Somerset would be going through this very same process. It was going to be hard for them to return to London when the war was over. _When the war was over!_ Molly could only dream of that day. It was hard to imagine how it would feel when the war was finally over She also knew that it would be hard to imagine a future in which she could no longer carry on working with aeroplanes. She tried not to make plans for the future and in that respect she was very much like the majority of young people around her living for today and accepting whatever enjoyment came their way.

Today, she had a letter in her pocket from her sister, Bella and decided to go and sit on a bench on the Village Green to read it in peace. Bella sounded happy. Her letter was full of news about the farm on which she was staying and the farmer's wife Mrs Bruton. The Brutons seemed to have taken her to the bosom of their family and treated her like their own daughter. She was fortunate. Molly knew that not every child ended up with a family who cared for them as well as the Brutons. Her other three siblings had been placed with a childless couple living near Bella. News about them was scanty as they were all a little too young to write letters reliably. Her mother had managed to visit them four times in the last three years and wrote to them as often as she could, but Molly was fearful that they might have forgotten their parents and her before they returned home.

Looking up from her letter Molly saw Hattie sitting on the low wall surrounding the churchyard in the centre of the village. She had seen her around in the distance a few times over the past few weeks. Once or twice she had been sitting outside the pub when Molly and Jackie had gone out in the evening for a drink. Most of the ground crew and air crew visited the pub several times a week and Molly always found someone there to talk with on an evening. Sometimes Flight Lieutenant James joined them as well but when he did he was always fairly quiet. He talked to her less than when he occasionally saw her at the workshop. When he was there he sometimes talked about his car. Molly assumed it was a point of shared interest and was glad. When he was quiet in the pub Molly wondered if it was due to the difference in their ranks even though she knew that the RAF had a more relaxed attitude than the other two services

On this afternoon, in spite of it being a little chilly and threatening to rain Hattie was only wearing a thin cardigan over her summer dress. A small red beret lay on the wall next to her. Seeing her there on her own, Molly ventured over to speak to her.

"Hello Hattie! Remember me?"

The girl smiled at her this time.

"You're Molly."

Molly grinned back at her. "Aren't you at school today?"

Hattie pulled a face and swung her legs backwards and forwards. "It's the holidays but I don't go to school much, anyway."

Molly couldn't help remembering all the times she had played truant over the years and knew her teachers would be shocked to hear her encouraging someone else to do the opposite,

"You need to go to school. What do you want to do when you're grown up? You might need certificates or something."

The girl shrugged.

"My Dad says he never learned anything useful at school. We don't stay anywhere very long, so I don't need to go to school." This sounded like the words of someone else and Molly wondered if that was what Hattie's Dad had told her.

Hattie jumped down from the wall.

"I've got to get back now, tata!" She turned and skipped in the direction of a row of workers cottages beyond the village green. There was an alley way between two of the cottages and Molly watched her enter the alley and disappear out of sight. Gazing down at the wall she saw the red beret still resting where it had been placed. Hattie was already out of sight and earshot. She picked up the beret, made her way across to the cottages and followed along the alley way towards a small lane that ran behind them. Along the lane she could see a row of back gates leading into yards behind each of the cottages. Molly assumed that Hattie had disappeared into one of the yards and walked along the lane looking for any sign or sound of her but there was no trace. However, she could see that the lane went beyond the houses to join what appeared to be a small footpath along the riverside that ended about fifty yards further up the track. She followed the track to its end and there she saw well tucked away out of sight a wooden lock-up storeroom. It was disguised by leaves and branches and the only reason she had seen it was because one of the doors was open. Out of curiosity she approached it. When she was five yards from the entrance, she was startled by the appearance of Hattie's father. It was evident that he was equally startled by the sight of Molly.

"What are you doing here?" He said roughly.

"Looking for Hattie, she left this behind at the church." Molly offered the beret to him. He snatched it from her.

"Ta!" It was a grudging response

Molly dithered, feeling she should say something about Hattie. She felt sorry for the girl always hanging around outside the pub while her Dad was drinking and socialising inside. She'd seen plenty of children in the East End neglected by their parents and it never did them any good.

"What are you waiting for?" He said impatiently.

"Don't you think Hattie should go to school a bit more and maybe not be out so late at night?" She ventured, beginning to realise she was making a mistake.

Hattie's Dad was clearly taken aback.

"Who the bloody hell, do you think you are, telling me what to do with my own daughter?"

Molly was already telling herself that she should have kept her mouth shut.

"No one. I just was concerned about her, that's all." She stammered

"Well clear off out of here and take your bloody concern with you!" Molly knew there was nothing else to be said or done and hastily backed away. He wasn't a man to be reasoned with. As she was turning to go, she thought she glimpsed Hattie's face peeping around the lockup door.

Half an hour later Molly was seated in the Copper Kettle tearooms in the centre of the village with a triumphant Jackie who had succeeded in obtaining the longed-for lipstick.

"To start with I thought I was going to be out of luck because old Walters said he didn't know anything about lipstick but then I got out a ten bob note and said I wondered if this would help him remember and lo and behold it appeared from under the counter!" Jackie whispered.

Molly's eyes widened. "Is it black market then?"

"Shush!" Jackie hissed at her. "Not exactly, just a bit difficult to come by unless you know the right people."

Molly was amazed at how often people who would never have broken the law before the war, seemed prepared to blur the lines when it came to rationing or take advantage of those wanting goods that were hard to find. She didn't think she would have parted with ten bob for a lipstick but it obviously made Jackie feel better.

The waitress brought them a pot of tea and some scones and margarine. The days of being able to order delicious chocolate éclairs or fruit cake were long gone and the scones were a poor substitute being dry and tasteless. Molly had never liked margarine but the girls nevertheless ate the scones up gratefully as food was never wasted. After they had eaten, Molly, thinking about the encounter with Hattie's father said to Jackie,

"You know when you told me that Hattie's father was a bad lot. What did you mean exactly?" Jackie looked up from her cup of tea,

"Bill Tyler? It seems that he thinks he's a bit of a 'business man', if you get my drift. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if Walters didn't get those lipsticks from him."

_A bit of a bad lot. _ In her nineteen years Molly Dawes had met a few people for whom that description would have been fitting. She wasn't blinkered. Her own father was no saint. But the more she heard about Hattie's father the more concern she felt for the little girl's welfare.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Thank you for all your kind reviews. I really appreciate your comments. This will be the last update _****_before_****_ Christmas as it places demands on us all. More updates will follow as soon as possible. I wish you all a very happy and peaceful Christmas._**

"Are you coming to the dance, Skip?" Kinders asked on Wednesday evening when the crew were all assembled at The White Horse. James pulled a pained expression. He seemed to be reluctant to commit himself.

"Well, I'm not really the best dancer so I wouldn't want to impose myself on any unsuspecting young lady. Although," He looked around him, "I might go on one condition." He left a dramatic pause.

"What's that, Skip?" Nuttall asked.

"If I could find a female volunteer brave enough to dance with me." He looked around him and saw Molly standing close by next to Smithy. He beamed at her and exclaimed brightly,

"Dawes. How kind of you!"

Molly turned her head "Sir?"

"It looks like the Skip has just engaged you for the first dance, Molly!" Smithy answered laughing aloud although he had to fight hard to hide his disappointment because he had secretly been hoping to ask her himself.

Molly hadn't been paying attention to what had been said because she had been distracted by the sight of Hattie sitting outside the pub when they had arrived. The child had a large bruise across her cheekbone. Molly was certain it couldn't have been an accident. As she had entered the pub Hattie's Dad, Bill, had been coming out the other way. On recognising her he glared and pushed past. She had wanted to speak to Hattie but he was standing next to her and she didn't dare to do so when he was nearby. The whole time she had been in the pub she had been waiting and watching what was going on. Bill seemed to be moving around chatting quietly to a few people from the station. She didn't know the people and so catching Smithy's eye asked,

"Who's that corporal talking to Bill Tyler?"

Smithy raised his eyebrows, "Didn't know you knew Tyler?"

Molly said quietly, "We've met once and he doesn't really like me."

She saw that Smithy was amused by this, "Bit of a habit with you, isn't it, Molly?"

Molly was irritated, "Stop joking, Smithy, who's the Corporal he's with?"

Smithy stared across the bar, "Harrison from Stores, I think!"

Molly was bothered by this news. Pieces of a jigsaw were beginning to come together. She needed to get some fresh air and making excuses about having a headache made her way outside.

Hattie was still sitting by the front door of the pub even though the light was fading. No one else was outside and seeing Bill busy indoors, Molly approached her.

"Hello, Hattie." The child looked wary

"What happened to your face?" Molly asked in as mild a tone as she could muster even though she was burning to know the answer.

Hattie looked down at her feet and seemed reluctant to speak. Molly answered for her.

"Did your Dad do that?"

She saw a tear escape from Hattie's eye and roll down her cheek. "He said it was my fault."

"What about?" Molly couldn't imagine what she meant.

"That you followed me. He was angry about it."

Molly was incensed, "You mean he hit you because I spoke to him?"

The girl nodded and looked as though she might start crying properly at any moment.

"I was supposed to run and tell him if anyone was coming."

The truth began to dawn on Molly. "You were being a look out?"

Hattie nodded.

"Is that what you're doing now?" She asked

She nodded again. "Got to run in and tell him if the Coppers turn up."

Molly had known the first time she saw Bill Tyler that he was a spiv and Hattie was confirming this. Jackie had suspected he was up to no good but she'd referred to it as being 'a bit of a business man'. Supplying a few highly sought after items like lipstick might not be a crime even if it did exploit the vanity of some women, but who knew what else he could be doing that _was_ a crime. From what Hattie had just said, it seemed as if Bill certainly thought there was a danger of the Police turning up. He was hanging around here several nights of the week talking to station personnel and who knows where else he went. East Anglia, Suffolk, Cambridgeshire and Lincolnshire were littered with RAF and USAAF bases. Hattie had said they never stayed anywhere very long and she'd talked about them going to London. Molly was angry. What kind of life could a man like Bill Tyler give a child like Hattie who should be going to school, playing with friends, having a proper home life and being cared for not used as a spiv's look-out and dragged around the country at his beck and call.

The door of the pub opened and the noise from within disturbed Molly from her thoughts. She saw Harrison, the man Smithy had earlier identified, leaving the pub and making his way back up the lane towards the station. Hattie also watched him leave and then glanced up at Molly. She didn't say anything but Molly was sure that Harrison was involved somehow.

"Dad'll be out in a minute." Hattie stood up. Molly wanted to hug her, it all seemed so unfair.

"Keep your chin up!" She said tying to smile at her reassuringly but the words felt empty.

Not wanting to get Hattie into any more trouble she slipped back into the pub. She couldn't see Bill Tyler anywhere so moved back over to where Smithy and his crew were standing. They stayed in the pub for another hour before deciding to make their way back to the base. The crew had been lively and chatty and full of jokes tonight. Even Flight Lieutenant James was in a more outgoing mood. Only Molly was quiet and lost in thought.

Molly and Jackie walked back to the base with Charlie's crew. Nuttall and Mansfield, fuelled by a few beers, were singing 'Knees up Mother Brown' and trying to dance as they walked. Molly didn't notice some of the unorthodox verses thrown in even when Jackie called out,

"Excuse me, ladies present!"

Smithy had fallen in step with Molly towards the rear of the group. Flight Lieutenant James, without his car tonight, was walking a little way ahead of them.

"You're very quiet tonight, Molly." Smithy said.

"Sorry, I've got things on my mind."

"You don't want to do that. That sounds like hard work." Smithy joked.

"Serious things, Smithy." He turned his head to look at her.

"Would it help if you told me?" He hesitated and then added, "I told you I'd make it up to you for what I did before and I meant it." She could hear in his voice that he was genuine. Molly knew that she would keep on worrying about everything if she didn't confide in someone and Smithy was willing to listen. She lowered her voice.

"It's about Hattie and her father. I think he's dealing on the black market and using contacts, like Harrison, at airbases everywhere. He's got a hidden lock-up store. I saw it the other day. He's using Hattie as a look-out. He hit her the other day because she didn't stop me finding his lock-up. She shouldn't be treated like that. She's the same age as my sister. What do you think I should do?" It was a relief to tell someone else. They walked in silence for a while. In the end Smithy said.

"We should talk to the Skipper, he'll know what to do."

James had been caught between the two groups walking back to the base. Nuttall, Mansfield and Fingerson were clearly a few sheets to the wind and having a good time. He'd have to make sure they calmed down before they reached the main gate or they'd find themselves in the Guard Room on a charge. Jackie, Kinders and Berry were walking a just behind them at a more sedate pace, talking amicably. Behind him Smithy and Dawes seemed to be thick as thieves, voices lowered so he couldn't make out what was being said. Smithy had only returned on Monday but already he and Dawes seemed to have picked up where they left off, although he still wasn't sure quite how the land lay between them. He thought that Smithy had taken a shine to Dawes but her feelings couldn't be so easily read. She seemed to humour him and to be friendly but he didn't know what or it meant if anything. He was startled from his thoughts by Smithy calling out,

"Skipper!"

He turned to look back. Dawes and Smithy had stopped in the road. Smithy beckoned to him and he walked back towards them.

"What's the matter, Smithy?"

"Molly's got a problem. We thought you might know what to do about it." Smithy said.

The voices of Jackie and the rest of the crew continued to move further away from them. James was intrigued; he certainly hadn't been expecting this.

"Spit it out, then, Dawes!" He said.

Molly took a deep breath and then recounted the events of the last two days. At the end of her account, she asked simply,

"What do you think I should do, Sir?"

James took a deep breath. She had no real proof that anything wrong had taken place only the word of the girl.

"Do you believe this girl, Hattie?"

Molly looked up at him. In the moonlight he could see the anxious expression on her face.

"She was definitely upset. Her dad hit her because I followed her. He must be hiding something but it's not right for a child to live like that or for people like him to be making money out of this war. Why are you risking your lives flying bombing raids so that people like him can make a fortune and why isn't he in uniform himself?" She had run on more than she had intended. He could see that when Dawes was passionate about something she was a force to be reckoned with.

On the last point, Smithy said cynically, "Bet he paid someone to fail the medical for him, that's what his type do." They all knew that some medically unfit men were making a small fortune impersonating those called up but unwilling to serve.

"We don't know that, Smithy." James said reasonably. "Leave it with me overnight, I'll speak to you both tomorrow, when I've had time to think about it."

There seemed nothing more to say so the three of them walked back to the base in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Thankfully, by the time they reached the main gate they found that Nuttall and Mansfield seemed to have passed through without mishap. Beyond the gate, they said goodnight and each went their separate ways back to their quarters.

The next morning James sought out Smithy soon after breakfast and together they went to find Molly in the workshop on the far side of the aerodrome. Now that Molly was very much in favour, Corporal Barker did not object to her being 'borrowed' for a quick chat.

"I think we have no option than to go to the RAF Police." James advised, "They can investigate if they think anything untoward is going happening and talk with the civilian police if necessary. I think it's the only option."

Molly knew that he was right but she began to feel very concerned about Hattie. She had been so indignant about the fact that her father had hit her and she was being used by him that she hadn't stopped to think what might happen to the girl. She spoke now.

"What do you think will happen to, Hattie, Sir? I mean, if her dad's been up to no good."

James shrugged his shoulders, "We can't worry about that, it's not our job to decide. All we can do is report that we think a crime is being committed."

Molly's heart sank at his words and she began to worry even more that she might be setting the wheels in motion on something beyond her control.

When Molly had finished giving her account to the RAF Police Sergeant, he thanked her and then said that they would speak to her again, if they needed any more information. There was nothing more she could do. Flight Lieutenant James had accompanied her and added bits of information where necessary but the chief of the evidence appeared to hinge on Molly's account of what had transpired between herself and Hattie and finding her father at the hidden lock-up. After they had left the building, Molly still felt anxious and it showed in her face.

Looking down at her, James could see that she was genuinely concerned.

"You've done the right thing. Try not to think about it too much." He tried to sound reassuring but he could see that she was going to carry on worrying no matter what he said.

"You've just not got to get involved." He added.

"Yes, but I have, haven't I and what happens now will be down to me." She looked so miserable and there was so little he could say. He sighed resignedly and said gently,

"Buzz off, Dawsey and get back to work!"

He saw a small change of expression on her face. She was surprised but she said nothing.

He watched her mount her bicycle and begin the ride back to the other side of the aerodrome. He wandered off to the Officer's mess to get a drink before lunch and thought to himself _Dawsey_ how had that slipped out? He shook his head and muttered under his breath,

"Take your own advice, James!"

Nothing happened for the rest of the day. Molly tried to busy herself in her work and to some extent succeeded. The repairs were going well and it looked as though the Squadron would be up to strength again by the start of next week. This news produced mixed feelings in her. Getting the aeroplane ready for operations was her chief purpose but now that meant sending a crew that she knew and cared about back into danger. She tried to tell herself, that if she did her work properly she was helping to make their flight safer, making sure that the aeroplane wouldn't fail them, but the greatest danger lay from forces beyond her control.

It was early on Friday afternoon that she RAF Police Sergeant came to find her in the workshop. His presence unsurprisingly provoked a lot of interest from those around.

"What have you been up to now, Dawes?" Corporal Barker enquired.

The RAF sergeant spoke to him and asked if Molly could be released for a couple of hours as her help was required. Molly could tell Barker was desperate to know what the matter concerned but couldn't ask and the Sergeant was not about to discuss it with him. He had no option but to let her go.

"Why do you need me, Sergeant?" Was her first question as they left the workshop.

"We need you to show us where you found the lock up. It seems as if Tyler's known by the civilian police and the MP's at a few of the American bases near here. He's been acting as a middle man, receiving the stolen goods from military stores and passing them on for sale to retailers."

They drove down to Banfield and met a civilian Police Inspector in the village. Molly directed them to the cottages and then led them up the lane and beyond to the track at the back, eventually locating the hidden lock-up. The door stood open. Predictably, it was empty. Only a few discarded wrappers and sacks could be found although one of them conveniently stated, 'Property of USAAF' which was damning enough by itself.

As they walked back to the cars, the Inspector said conversationally to the Sergeant,

"We raided his lodgings at lunchtime but he'd scarpered. Only thing is he left his daughter behind!"

Molly looked up sharply, "He left Hattie?"

The Inspector regarded her keenly, "Yes, I don't suppose he thought dragging a kid along with him while he was on the run, would be a very good idea."

"Where is she?" She asked

"Just waiting for the Welfare lady from the council to collect her. She's sitting in the car over there with a WPC." He motioned to a police car on the far side of the Green.

"What's going to happen to her?"

"I don't know that's for the council to decide but she'll probably go to an orphanage if there's space somewhere." The Inspector concluded.

Molly's heart sank. "Can I speak to her?"

He nodded, "Just for a couple of minutes."

Molly walked across to the car, she could see Hattie sitting in the back, hunched over, and looking miserable. She had been crying and Molly felt terrible. The Inspector spoke to the WPC and then Molly opened the back door. Hattie turned to look at her.

"My Dad's gone!" she said.

"I know, I'm sorry." Molly replied.

"It's because of what you said." It wasn't an accusation but the girl nevertheless turned away and refused to look at her again and Molly's misery was complete.

Molly returned to the station in the Sergeant's car. When she arrived back, she found Flight Lieutenant James waiting. He'd run into one of the Inspectors in the mess who'd informed him of events. It had been his idea to go to the RAF Police in the first place and he felt a responsibility for what had happened.

"How did it go?" He asked genuinely concerned.

Molly recounted events and he listened in silence. He could tell she was troubled by the way things had turned out for Hattie.

"What do you think will happen to her, Sir if she ends up living in an orphanage?" She asked.

He wanted to sound calm and reassuring. "She'll be cared for, fed, go to school and she won't get dragged into a life of crime. That has to be better than the life she was living. Don't blame yourself. It sounds like the Police were going to catch up with Tyler at some point anyway. You just made it happen a bit sooner."

Molly knew he was right and she appreciated his kindness but she felt low spirited.

He tried to brighten the mood.

"Don't forget the dance tonight. I'm relying on you Dawes. I need to know there's at least one partner I can trust not to laugh!" His self-deprecating humour amused her and in spite of herself she smiled weakly and replied,

"You can rely on me, Sir, completely."

It was only when she safely reached her quarters and was finally alone that the tears began to fall. She couldn't help feeling that in spite of her good intentions she had just made everything worse for Hattie

When Jackie came in later she could tell that Molly had been crying but didn't pry. She took her firmly by the hand pushed her towards the ablutions and told her to,

"Smarten yourself up, do your hair and paint on a smile." Handing her the highly prized lipstick. The irony wasn't lost on Molly and she almost burst into tears again at the sight of it but she remembered the Flight Lieutenant's words about not getting involved and realised that the only way forward from here was to try to put the events to the back of her mind.

When Molly entered the Sergeants Mess hall where the dance was being held, it had already been in full swing for over an hour. It had taken her longer to get ready than she had expected partly because she had almost changed her mind again about going and had to be cajoled by Jackie. The thought of the promise she had made to Flight Lieutenant James was also in her mind. She didn't want him to think badly of her. An attempt had been made to transform the Mess Hall with the addition of some bunting which looked like it had last seen service for the Coronation in 1937. At one end of the hall a small stage had been erected on which a band consisting of a pianist, trumpet player, clarinettist, drummer and double bass player were located. Tables had been pushed back to make a dance floor and beer and soft drinks were being served from the kitchen hatch. Couples were moving around on the tightly packed dance floor and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. She had to admit that the band who were playing a lively swing number were surprisingly good. Couples were attempting to jitterbug with varying degrees of success in the limited space but with lots of good humour.

She had only walked a few paces into the room when she was accosted by Smithy.

"Where have you been? We thought you'd got lost!" He looked very pleased to see her.

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled but couldn't bring herself to talk about what had happened that afternoon.

Across the room she caught sight of Flight Lieutenant James, a beer glass in hand, standing, chatting with another pilot. He glanced in her direction and catching sight of her smiled. She saw him make his excuses to his companion, put down his beer glass and walk towards her. As he approached he said,

"Sorry to cut in, Smithy, but I think this young lady agreed to take pity on me and escort me around the dance floor."

His face was serious but Molly could detect a twinkle of amusement in his eyes and with a small glow of pride she noted the way he had called her a 'young lady' rather than 'Dawes' or worse still, 'Aircraftwoman'.

Smithy looked disappointed but stood back to make way for his Skipper.

"How about the next dance then, Molly?" He asked hopefully.

"Yes, alright" she agreed feeling sorry for him.

The band had just finished the swing tune and the dancers stood and applauded. Molly was glad she hadn't arrived a few minutes earlier or she might have had the mortifying experience of trying to jitterbug with Flight Lieutenant James which, given his professed lack of skill, could have been very embarrassing. James held out his hand to her.

"Shall we?"

She took his hand and as their fingers touched she felt an inexplicable tingle of anticipation run through her. On the stage a WAAF Corporal driver, whom Molly had seen around the station and recognised by sight, stepped forward to the microphone. The band struck up the introduction to a smooth ballad. Molly recognised _'I know why'_. It was a tune she loved. She had heard The Glen Miller Band record played endlessly on the wireless last year and knew every word and note.

Standing in the middle of the dance floor James opened his arms, Molly gave him her right hand and he encircled her with his right arm, placing his hand gently in the small of her back. Placing her left hand lightly on his shoulder, they began to move around the floor and she soon realised that, in spite of his protestations to the contrary, he was in fact a very good dancer. She said nothing but the thought of him making up an excuse to dance with her made her smile to herself. She was very conscious of being close to him and the increasing pressure of his hand on her back. She wasn't sure if she was imagining it but wondered if he was holding her a little closer than was really necessary and his head seemed to moving ever nearer to hers.

The musical introduction drew to a close and the WAAF Corporal started to sing in a strong, rich alto. She had a good voice and it was a pleasure to move around the room listening to the lilting melody. As they danced Molly became conscious that James was softly humming the tune and after a few more moments she was certain she could hear him singing along very quietly in a tuneful tenor voice,

"_When you dance with me…..I'm in heaven when the music begins."_

Perhaps it was the tension of the moment, the consciousness of his physical presence or a moment of awkwardness but Molly couldn't help saying quietly,

"You're singing, Sir!"

He moved his head back a fraction and looked down at her

"Sorry, it's a nervous habit."

She looked directly into his eyes and saw a serious look there.

"Are you nervous?" she asked gently

"Well, it's the dancing!" He said dismissively and rather too quickly, adding with a smile. "Do you sing, Dawes?"

She spoke without thinking, "Only in the bath or when I'm really happy."

She was glad the lights had been dimmed because making mention of herself in the bath to him had made her blush. To cover her embarrassment she added rapidly, "Mind you four inches of tepid water don't usually cheer me up very much!"

James laughed softly. She always seemed to have the ability to make him laugh.

He moved a little closer to her and they carried on dancing, both feeling more comfortable in each other's arms. James was singing softly again,

_"And why do I see rainbows…..when you're in my arms…..I know why and so do you."_

The song ended. They automatically moved apart and politely applauded the singer and the band but both of them were in turmoil. Molly was slightly bewildered. Dancing with him had awoken something in her that she hadn't realised until the moment he had taken her hand. James was struggling too as emotions had come to the surface that he'd tried to hold at bay. He knew he was in danger and another dance would just about make him a lost cause. He put on the emotional mask that had served him so well until now and turned back to Molly. He was every inch the Skipper again.

"Well, thank you, Dawes. It was delightful!" He looked over to the side of the room to see Smithy watching them and waiting patiently for Molly to return. "I think you're going to be in demand." He politely guided her from the dance floor and back to the side of the room.

"All yours, Smithy!"

He nodded at him and then turning quickly away from her melted into the crowd. Molly watched his back disappearing into the distance and she saw him leave the hall. She was confused about what had just happened but she knew _something_ had happened, at least for her. For a moment on the dance floor she thought she had glimpsed something beyond the authoritative, military figure that James normally cut. She thought that just for a few brief minutes as they had danced she had seen a young man wanting to show a young woman that he liked her. She had no time to dwell any further on these thoughts as Smithy enthusiastically grabbed her by the hand and called,

"Come on, Molly, let's show them how it's done!"

James left the Mess hall and stood outside the entrance door in the cooler air. It was a beautiful clear night**. **The moon was almost full and very bright; a bomber's moon he reflected. They were fortunate not to be on ops tonight. He took a deep breath and sought to bring his feelings under control. When he thought she wasn't going to show up during the first hour he had felt deflated although the moment she had appeared in the room everything had changed. He didn't know why he'd made up the story about his poor dancing to compel Dawes to dance with him. Perhaps he had just been too nervous to come straight out with the request. He knew that she hadn't been fooled but she'd had the good grace not to remark on it. Now he knew it was a good job that he'd had the sense to leave when the dance with her was over. Seeing Smithy's face afterwards had made him realise that had he stayed in the room he would have had to endure a long night of watching Molly dance with other men and he didn't think he could bear it.

He shook his head at himself and smiled ruefully. This wouldn't do. He'd almost lost himself just now and forgotten where he was. He told himself it was not the time and place to think about anything like this. He had a duty and responsibility to his crew and he needed to concentrate on getting all of them to the end of their thirty missions. Whatever his feelings might be and he couldn't deny anymore that they existed; he knew it was wrong to think of any life beyond the end of the tour.


	8. Chapter 8

It was a grey overcast day with drizzle in the air. Molly gazed up at the sky and felt frustrated by the inclement weather. As the rainfall became heavier she thought that no one would believe it was August and cursed the bus for always being late. She wasn't permitted to carry an umbrella when in uniform and without her greatcoat, which no right minded person would wear in the middle of summer, there was every chance of her being soaked before the bus to Grantley arrived. The town of Grantley, four miles away, was the nearest railway station which served RAF Milton and Molly was off on five days leave, her first since being posted to the Lancaster base.

Given the difficulties she had experienced when she first arrived at RAF Milton, she would never have imagined that she would feel reluctant to go on leave but events in the last few weeks had changed her mind. She now felt very much part of the ground crew and valued by the aircrew. She had built a good relationship with her colleagues and other WAAFs and she was at last doing the work she had been trained for. Not only did she feel needed but she felt that she was also finally contributing something worthwhile.

However, something else had changed for her since the night of the Station Dance; she had realised that she had feelings for Flight Lieutenant James. It was only now that she could see how it had happened. Very slowly and almost imperceptibly he had crept into her consciousness. She had dismissed him on their first meeting as rude, arrogant and toffee-nosed. She smiled to herself at the memory. But very gradually another side to him had been revealed; his relationship with his crew, his acceptance of her skills, his willingness to socialise with her despite her very lowly rank and his kindness in listening and trying to help with the trouble over Hattie Tyler and her father even if he thought she should not have become involved in other people's lives. Given the way matters had concluded, she wished she had taken his advice.

Before the war she would never have thought it possible to meet someone like him; someone from a higher social class. She would never have thought it possible that she might get to know him or even dance with him. When they had danced she had felt sure he liked her too from the way he had held her just a little closer than was necessary and the look in his eyes when she had asked him if he was nervous. Sometimes, in her head she could even hear him quietly singing to her.

She hadn't had many boyfriends. She had walked out a few times with a young lad who worked at the Grocer's, Tommy Morris, but that had been nothing more than a couple of innocent dances and a quick peck on the cheek before saying goodnight. When she was on basic training she'd met a few chaps who had wanted a bit more than a peck on the cheek but part of her education in the WAAF's had been learning how to sidestep unwanted advances courtesy of Elsie, the former prostitute, who had taken the responsibility upon herself in an almost motherly fashion, to advise the younger girls on how to manage themselves in these circumstances. Molly knew that she would blush to tell her mother some of the advice she had been given but she recognised that Elsie's suggestions had been kindly meant. Of course, there had also been the kiss and cuddle after the training course dance with Smithy months ago. It hadn't been anything serious, at least in Molly's eyes, but she felt sure that they had now put it behind them and were very firmly just friends. The one thing she knew for certain after the Station Dance was that no one had ever her made feel the way Flight Lieutenant James had that night.

In the two weeks since the dance she had found it very difficult to read what was going on in his mind. She saw him almost every day either out at dispersal, the hangars and workshop or at The White Horse. Nothing seemed to have changed in his demeanour. He was still amiable with his crew and polite and authoritative in his dealings with the ground crew. He had passed the time of day pleasantly with her and Jackie in The White Horse and responded politely to her enquiries about his car. Nothing seemed to have changed but once or twice Molly had noticed him gazing at her. On one occasion he had been standing on the opposite side of the public bar at The White Horse when she had been chatting with Will Davis from the ground crew. Looking up she had seen him gazing in her direction and they had made eye contact. Instead of looking away as he usually did, he'd held her gaze for a few seconds causing her stomach to flip and her heart to miss a beat.

'Charlie' had flown three operations in the last ten days. The last had been yesterday. Thankfully, they had come through these raids more or less unscathed. Some engine trouble had dogged them on the last operation but other than having only two fully functioning engines which slowed them considerably, there had been no trouble. The intermittent failure of the engines had been a headache for Smithy but they had nursed 'Charlie' back to Milton arriving about forty five minutes after the rest of the Squadron.

Waiting with the ground crew unaware of the reason for their delay, Molly had felt an increasing sense of dread. It was the first time that 'Charlie' hadn't appeared with the main group after an operation and the thought of them not returning had made her nauseous so much so that she had twice had to go around to the back of the workshops out of everyone's sight for fear that she would actually be sick in front of them. When they had returned, the relief had surpassed any previous occasion particularly the sight of Flight Lieutenant James dropping down from the aircraft hatch and planting his feet firmly back on the ground. This time he had definitely looked towards her smiling with a mixture of relief and exhaustion on his face and she had felt certain the smile was for her. Yet today she was standing at a bus stop in the rain waiting for a bus to take her away from this Station and she whispered to herself, away from him. She glanced down the road and silently cursed again.

As James turned left out of the main gate of the base he desperately hoped that the bus would be late. He'd only discovered ten minutes earlier that Molly was going off on leave that day. As luck would have it, he had been planning to drive into Grantley and was securing the soft top roof of his car against the drizzle when Berry had passed him.

"Better hope your car behaves itself in the damp, Skipper, because you won't be able to call on the services of your favourite mechanic if it plays up."

James had looked up sharply and said warily,

"What are you talking about, Maurice?"

Berry nodded in the direction of the Sergeant's Mess,

"I just heard from Smithy, Dawes is off on five days leave today."

James shrugged feigning lack of interest.

"I'm sure Barker is quite capable of helping me out if the need arises." Berry seemed satisfied to leave the conversation there and moved off.

James' mind however, was racing.

During the last two weeks he had tried to remain true to his intentions, concentrating on the crew and the operations and trying to banish all other thoughts from his mind but it hadn't been easy. He knew that no matter how much he maintained a physical distance and the appropriate façade in public, his mind was a battleground where his inclinations fought toe to toe with his duty,

He was accosted by the sight of Molly on an almost daily basis. She was always present as a member of the ground crew. He often saw her in The White Horse and her friendship with Smithy brought her constantly close to him. He tried to maintain the appropriate level of civility and he had to admit in all fairness to her, that she never overstepped the mark or tried to claim a greater degree of familiarity with him. However, she was always present in the background. He would hear her laughing or using one of her cockney phrases that had once sounded so alien to him and he would remember those few brief minutes that they had shared on the dance floor and wish he was holding her close again and she was speaking only to him.

When he flew on operations and the long, boring hours of darkness claimed him, he would stare into the distance and think of her. He ran through all the conversations they had shared. He cringed every time he remembered his attitude to her the first time they had met when she had laughed inappropriately. The thought of her laughter made him smile now. He had deserved that, particularly for his arrogant behaviour. He recalled the mixture of fear and pride she had provoked in him when she had rescued Smithy and Ramsay from the crashed aircraft. The concern that she had showed for Hattie Tyler and her unhappiness at the way events had transpired had also affected him. He felt as if he had been the catalyst for putting the events in motion. She had sought his advice and now he sensed she was troubled by what she had done at his suggestion. Above all, the sight of her face yesterday strained with anxiety when they had returned late from the raid, had convinced him that he couldn't let her go on leave without ensuring that she knew somehow that she _did_ matter to him.

Hearing from Berry that Molly was about to go on leave and finding out from the Sergeant on the gate that she had passed through carrying a kit bag only a short time earlier, a plan hastily formed in James' mind. As he drove out of the main gate he hoped he would find her standing at the bus stop.

Lady luck was smiling on him again. As he approached the bus stop he saw the lonely figure of Molly waiting by the roadside with her kitbag. He pulled up alongside her and leaned across the passenger seat to call to her.

"Dawes, can I give you a lift?"

She had seen the car approaching and waited with her heart in her mouth. Seeing him stop and speak to her, her spirits soared. She bent down and leaned towards him. He drank in the sight of her beautiful dark-lashed, green eyes so close and focused on him.

"I'm just waiting for the bus to Grantley, Sir. I'm sure it will be along soon." She replied. It was the last thing she wanted to do but she knew she ought to behave appropriately.

He saw that she was all correctness in her approach to him and his nerve began to waver a little but he persisted.

"I'm going that way myself. You'll get soaked waiting for the bus. Hop in!"

He opened the passenger door for her. She couldn't decline again. She stepped forward and handed James the kitbag which he stowed behind the seats. She got into the passenger seat, shut the door and he drove away.

Molly had never ridden in a sports car before and she enjoyed the sound of the engine roaring, the wind rushing past and the sensation of speed. James glanced across at her and saw her smiling.

"Happy to be going on leave?" He enquired raising his voice to be heard above the sound of the engine.

"Not really!" she said honestly

"Got any plans?" He asked.

"I'm going home to see my Mum and Dad. I'd like to see my brothers and sisters but there won't be time to get down to Somerset and back again."

That was true enough, James reflected, given the crowded state of the railways. Journeys were often very long and much delayed.

They were silent for a few minutes and James was conscious that every yard he drove nearer to Grantley was a yard nearer to her departure. It was Molly who eventually broke the silence.

"Did you join the RAF before the war, Sir?"

He answered matter-of-factly, "Yes, in thirty eight straight after university."

"Did you want to fly Spitfires? That's what I would have done if I'd had the chance!"

He glanced at her and saw she was animated by the subject. He laughed.

"Didn't everyone? Unfortunately, it seems the Air Ministry thought my talents lay elsewhere. I started out in Coastal."

"We only used to get down to the seaside once a year before the war, if we were lucky." Molly reflected. "Usually a day out at Margate. I bet it was more peaceful in Coastal than here, Sir!"

"Mmh peaceful." He said thinking about his time serving down in Hampshire at the start of the war. "Well, it was certainly rather solitary and tedious patrolling sectors and looking out for enemy ships and U-boats. Not really my 'cup of tea' to be honest. That's why I moved into twin engine bombers and well, as you can see, Lancasters, now."

"Do you think you'll stay in the RAF after the war?" Molly had turned her head to look at him. She could see him considering the question. He knew she was watching him and taking his eyes from the road for a brief moment he glanced at her.

"I can't look that far ahead, Dawes, it's not something you can plan."

They drove on in silence. The car ate up the miles to Grantley and in all too short a time James was pulling up outside the railway station. It was raining much harder and Molly felt reluctant to get out of the car. She hadn't moved and neither had James. She wondered if he was waiting for her to go but as she moved to reach for her bag he spoke.

"I have a request, Dawes."

She turned to him and saw a sheepish grin on his face. She smiled too, wondering what he was going to ask her to do.

"When you're in London, I wondered if you might be able to do something for me. I know it's an imposition…"

"What, Sir?" She asked him intrigued.

He was searching around seeming flustered and patting his pockets as if looking for something. Eventually he produced a fountain pen and then a clean white linen handkerchief with embroidered initials 'CAJ' which he spread against the dashboard. Taking the lid from the fountain pen he wrote onto the handkerchief. _'Rosa'_ followed by _'Ted Foxton – Manston St'._ He saw her watching him half-smiling and frowning. He waved the handkerchief around trying to get the ink to dry before it blurred or smudged too much.

"Could you go to a garage in Manston Street and ask for Ted Foxton, if he's still there. Ask him if he has any of his 'special' blend for Rosa."

Molly was nonplussed by this request, "Who's Rosa, Sir?"

The sheepish grin returned as Flight Lieutenant James said, "You're sitting in her, Dawes."

Molly couldn't help herself, her hand flew to her mouth and she giggled, "You've called your car, Rosa, Sir?"

"Every man should have one lady in his life he can rely on!" He said with affected solemnity but he was enjoying her amusement at his expense.

He offered her the handkerchief, "I'm sure that both Rosa and I will adore you for always."

As Molly reached to take the handkerchief from him their fingers touched. She felt a shiver run down her spine and her breath catch in her throat. To her surprise he kept hold of her hand, his thumb slowly starting to caress her skin as their fingers entwined. She felt as if every nerve ending in her fingers was tingling under his touch. They were both mesmerised, watching their hands in silence until James lifted his eyes to her face. The serious look she remembered had returned. He spoke very softly,

"Come back to me."

Molly, astonished and wondering in equal measures replied gently, "I will. Don't worry."

Slowly releasing her hand he smiled at her and said quietly, "You'd better go. Your train will be here soon."

He saw her hesitate with a look of concern on her face,

"I can't go. I don't like not being here when I'm needed."

She wanted to say, 'when _you_ need me' but couldn't form the words.

James sat back in the driver's seat and stared straight ahead. He took a deep breath.

"Go, Dawes. You must!" There was a note of insistence in his voice.

Molly felt inexplicably close to tears, but she knew she would have to go. She opened the passenger door and got out of the car. James got out as well. He reached in and fetched her kitbag from behind the seats and walking around to the other side of the car handed over the bag. She took it and they looked at each other for a moment. No words were spoken. They understood each other.

Molly turned and walked into the station. James watched her until she had disappeared from sight and then got back into the car meaning to drive away but he found himself rooted to the spot and suddenly overcome by a sense of loss.

The journey to London would only have taken a couple of hours before the war but in these times of mass movement of civilians and military personnel the trains were usually crowded, slow running and late due to frequent, unexplained stops. There had been no seats free on the train so Molly had done the same as many others and perched on her kit bag in the corridor of the carriage. It wasn't the most comfortable journey and had taken almost four hours but she eventually arrived at Liverpool Street station and was able to catch the underground to the nearest station to home.

Molly hadn't been home since the end of her basic training many months ago. As was often the case, this leave had been offered to her at short notice and she'd had no opportunity to inform anyone she was coming home. She had been given some extra ration coupons to help her mother feed her but she had little idea how things had been at home apart from a few very brief letters from her mum giving her little or no information. As she strolled down Katherine Street she saw The Earl of Wakefield, it was past opening time and she wondered whether to pop her head around the door to see if her dad was in there but at the last moment thought better of it. She wasn't looking forward to hearing what he had been doing or how he had been spending the limited amount of money the family possessed and she wasn't keen on witnessing it first-hand.

Turning into her street she saw the tightly packed two up two down terraced houses. Here and there gaps could be seen where houses had once stood; victims of the Blitz in 1940. Although the sound of the air raid siren was still being heard in 1943 the bombing raids occurred far less frequently now and were generally less severe when they did happen. The houses had once been red-brick but had been blackened over the last century by the smoke and grime billowing out of the factory chimneys. Number thirty two looked the same as ever. Molly pushed open the front door and called out.

"Mum, it's me, Molly!"

There was no reply. It was dark in the hallway and Molly went through to the kitchen at the back. Peering through the window she caught sight of her mother in the yard with another woman she didn't recognise.

She opened the back door and stepped into the small enclosed yard. Her mother had her back to her and the woman with her, who Molly could now see was in WVS uniform, looked up as she approached. Molly's mum spun around.

"Molly!" she exclaimed overjoyed at the sight of her eldest child and rushed forward to hug her.

"It's so good to see you." She held her very tightly and Molly realised how much she had missed her mother.

Finally releasing her she held her at arms' length admiring what she saw, "Gosh Molly, you look so well and so smart. I hardly recognised you!" Molly smiled back and then noticed the other woman watching her. Her mum followed her eyes.

"Oh excuse me, I was forgetting my manners. Cynthia this is my daughter, Molly."

Molly was finally able to look properly at the other woman and was surprised by the sight of the well-manicured, middle-aged lady who held out her hand and in clipped upper-class tones said,

"How do you do? Your mother has told me so much about you." Molly shook hands with her completely taken aback by the fact that her mother was on first name terms with a woman who was clearly many rungs higher up the social ladder than her.

"Cynthia was advising me on whether we might be able to grow our own vegetables or keep some rabbits." Her mother said brightly.

Molly, surveying the tiny, cobble-stoned back yard, must have looked incredulous at this suggestion because Cynthia spoke up in an authoritative tone of voice

"Oh yes, you'll be amazed at what can be done with a bit of thought and planning." She proceeded to tell Molly and her mum exactly how she thought it could be achieved and remained for at least another half an hour before making her excuses and finally leaving Molly and her mum alone.

As soon as Cynthia had gone, Molly turned to her mum and exclaimed,

"Blimey, Mum, where on earth did you find her?"

"Oh, don't be like that, Molly, she's been very kind and helpful. She was with the WVS down at the Church Hall and we got chatting and I told her about some of the problems with your Dad and his drinking and wasting the housekeeping and she gave me a few ideas about how to make things go further." She leaned in towards Molly and giggled, "She even told your Dad he should get off his backside and try to help out a bit more. Fat chance!"

Molly rolled her eyes. She would like to have seen that moment,

"Where is Dad?" She asked fearing the answer.

"Where d'you think?" Came the obvious reply.

When Dave finally returned home after closing time, he was very merry and in his inebriated state was quite confused by the sight of Molly. In the end she and her mum had no choice but to manhandle him upstairs and leave him sprawled on the bed, snoring loudly.

"Hitler and all his armies could descend on this place and he wouldn't hear it." Her mum complained and shook her head resignedly. "I sometimes think I was supposed to do more in life than this." She continued, "I mean why is it fair for me to raise the children, cook, clean, take in washing to earn a living and do everything so that he can lounge around all day and drink the money away."

Molly was surprised, not by the summary of her mother's day to day life but because she had never heard her talking about it with such a sense of regret before.

"Is that what _you_ think or is that what _Cynthia_ thinks?" Molly asked stressing her name with an upper class intonation.

"It don't matter!" Her mum replied animatedly, "What matters is that what I'm saying is right!"

As Molly retired to bed she reflected that just as things were changing in her life they were definitely changing at home as well but it remained to be seen whether it was for the better. Before she went to sleep she got out Flight Lieutenant James handkerchief and with her index finger, traced the letters he had written. She looked at his initials 'CAJ' and wondered what his name might be and just for a few minutes allowed herself to think back to this morning, reliving those final moments in his car. He had asked her to come back to him but looking around her and hearing her dad's snores raising the rafters it already seemed like a world away.

The next morning, Dave had a sore head and didn't get up until just before lunch when Molly's mum had already gone out. He staggered downstairs in his trousers and vest, braces hanging down at his sides and looked very much worse for wear with a day's stubble and bloodshot eyes. He sat down heavily at the kitchen table and said,

"Make us a cup of tea will you, love and why _are_ you here anyway?"

Molly took one look at him and said,

"A good night was it?"

"I met a mate and he was buying." In other words she concluded he had been cadging drinks all night.

Molly went to put the kettle on to boil and half smiling observed,

"It's a good job Mum's friend, Cynthia, isn't here to see you."

Dave looked up and raised his eyebrows,

"Oh, met the 'Do-Gooder' have you?"

Molly felt it necessary to defend her Mum. As much as she had found Cynthia annoying, she knew her Mum was only looking for some support.

"Well Mum does do a lot, Dad. Maybe she just wants a bit of help from you, sometimes."

She could tell he was getting annoyed.

"It's that woman's fault. She never asked for any help before she came along."

Molly could see that no matter how justified her mother was in complaining, it was a losing the battle with her dad and she gave up the argument, settling for putting a pot of tea in front of him and hoping he would sober up soon.

On the third day of her leave, ever conscious of Flight Lieutenant James' request, Molly decided to go up west and try to locate the garage on Manston Street. When she finally found the street, she could find no garage. She wandered up and down for ten minutes and asked in a couple of shops. The first shopkeeper knew nothing of a garage but the second, although never having heard of Ted Foxton, recalled a small garage having been located in Manston Mews opposite although he couldn't swear it was still there. Molly followed his direction, crossed the street and walked through an archway into the mews. She could see nothing that obviously looked like a garage and was feeling very deflated at her lack of success when she spotted what looked like a small workshop with an open door. She paused outside feeling unsure whether to enquire but was saved the trouble by the appearance of a short, balding, middle-aged man dressed in overalls coming through the doorway.

"Morning!" He said politely, "Do you need any help?"

"I was looking for Ted Foxton. Would you know him?" Molly asked hopefully.

The man laughed, "Know him? You've found him, love!"

Molly explained why she had come.

Ted scratched his head, "Special blend for Rosa, eh! If it were anyone else, I'd say no chance but Flight Lieutenant James is a different matter." He glanced at Molly and could tell she didn't know why. "He was Skipper of my lad, Mick's crew. Mick was his Wireless Operator. He's an instructor now and well out of it, thank the lord. James is a good man and he got my lad back in one piece." He paused considering Molly's request. "I haven't got much of the 'special blend' but I did keep some back just in case. I can give you a small can." He disappeared to the back of the workshop and came back a few minutes later carrying a small oil can.

"She'll run a treat on that. She always does."

Molly reached for her purse,

"Don't worry about that. It's the least I can do for Mick's Skipper. You tell him he's very welcome." He pressed the can into her hand and she thanked him and left.

She made her way back home thinking about Ted's words and wishing more than ever that she was back at RAF Milton. Being away on leave when 'Charlie' might be on operations seemed wrong. As much as it had been good to see her parents she felt that she was doing nothing useful here. She had all but resolved to return to RAF Milton tomorrow, when pushing open the front door of number thirty two, she was met by her mum hurrying along the hallway. She was clearly excited as she said, rapidly,

"Where have you been Molly? There's someone here to see you? He's been waiting ages."

As her mum led her towards the small front parlour, Molly could only assume it was a visitor she thought worthy of being shown into the seldom used front room and her heart began to race. She could hear her dad speaking but as she opened the door she was not prepared for the sight that met her.

"Smithy? What are you doing here?"


	9. Chapter 9

The sight of Smithy sitting in the front parlour of her home came as a shock to Molly. She was immediately and illogically concerned that something was wrong with the crew of 'Charlie' but the smile on Smithy's face quickly convinced her that this was not the case.

"Why are you here?" She asked again.

"Blimey, Molly. What kind of welcome is that?" Her dad asked her, "Smithy's been half-way across London looking for you."

Molly noted his use of 'Smithy' and realised that in her absence her parents seemed to have struck up a firm friendship with him.

"I got a forty eight hour pass." Smithy said at last, "The whole Squadron's been stood down and all aircrew were offered a pass."

This news concerned Molly. Whilst giving the crews a break from operations was a good thing, she couldn't help wondering if this would mean a more concentrated period of operations when they returned. She reasoned that Smithy must know this too.

"Did everyone go on leave?" She asked, anxious to know the location of one particular person.

"Most." Smithy confirmed, "Mansfield's gone home to Derby. Nuttall went off to try and visit his young lady and Fingerson's taken himself off to see a mate of his in Norwich of all places. Berry and the Skipper weren't keen and Kinders thought he'd rather hang around and see that WAAF Corporal in Ops that he likes."

"And you thought you'd come to see me?" Molly said dubiously.

Smithy looked apologetic, "Well, to be honest, Molly, I was heading off to Newport to see my Mam but it took me so long to get to London, I thought I'd be better off staying here and then I thought who'd be the best person to show me around and the answer came to me …..Molly Dawes."

He gave her what he hoped was a winning smile. In other circumstances she might have been pleased, but at this moment he was the last person she wanted to see.

He proceeded to tell her how it had taken him half the day to find her. He knew that she lived in East Ham and she'd once mentioned the Earl of Wakefield pub. After making a lot of enquiries he'd eventually located the pub on Katherine Street.

"Let me guess," Molly began cynically, "You asked in there and everyone knew where the Dawes family lives, thanks to Dad."

"Better than that, love" Her dad broke in, "I was in there myself." Looking at Dave's animated face, Molly rolled her eyes. She could guess the rest.

"How many drinks did you buy him, Smithy?"

Smithy shook his head, "We just had a couple and a chat."

"He's a Gent, Molly." Dave said. "I didn't think I'd be able to say that about a Taffy! No offence, like!"

"None taken!" Smithy replied

Molly's mum came into the room with a pot of tea and some cups and saucers and they all sat down to drink it together the epitome of a polite afternoon tea party something seldom seen in the Dawes household. Molly had put the oil can down in the hall as she had come in to the room and her mum said,

"What's that grubby can doing in the hall, Molly? I nearly tripped over it."

"Nothing, it's just something for a friend." She said hastily as the last thing she wanted to do was talk about the special blend or who it was for.

Molly could tell very quickly that her parents liked Smithy. He was personable and good humoured. He told Dave plenty of jokes which made him laugh and Molly could also see that her mum was impressed that this young man had made such an effort to come to see her. After a while she said,

"So, what're you going to do then, Molly? You ought to take Smithy up West and go dancing somewhere."

Molly had been hoping that no one would make this suggestion. She liked Smithy and they had definitely become friends at the base but it was a different matter finding him sitting in her front parlour entertaining her parents and clearly having won them over.

"I know." Dave spoke up suddenly, "Take Smithy to the Opera House. He wants to see the sights and if that don't impress you, son, nothing will."

Molly could see Smithy was intrigued but slightly concerned at the suggestion as well. The look on his face was a picture and in spite of how she felt she couldn't help laughing.

"Don't worry, Smithy, you don't need a top hat!"

He was relieved to find out that The Royal Opera House was now a Mecca Dance Hall for the duration of the war. Molly would rather have gone to the local Palais but she could see that Smithy's imagination had been caught with the idea of dancing in such a grand location and with as good grace as she could muster she agreed to the suggestion. To finally compound her misgivings about the situation, she heard her mum inviting Smithy to stay with them as he hadn't got anywhere else to go. Smithy was clearly very pleased with the invitation but Molly felt uneasy.

"Any friend of our Molly's is welcome here." Her mum finished and whilst it was good to see the hospitable attitude her parents had shown Smithy, she couldn't help wondering what they would have made of Flight Lieutenant James.

As Molly left the room to go and get ready for the evening out her mum followed her. Shutting the parlour door behind her, she whispered excitedly to Molly,

"Cor, Molly, he's a really nice lad. You've done well for yourself."

Molly felt exasperated. They had obviously misunderstood the situation.

"We're just friends, Mum."

Her mum winked at her,

"Well, that's what you say but I think Smithy's keen on you. Why don't you go and get dressed up. That nice red dress of yours is hanging up in the wardrobe. That'd be lovely for a dance."

Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. As much as it would have been nice to change out of her uniform, she had no intention of playing along with her mother's imaginings or giving Smithy any ideas.

She disappeared upstairs for fifteen minutes and when she returned to the parlour with her hair neatly tied up, a little bit of powder on her face and a hint of rouge on her cheeks, she was still resolutely dressed in her WAAF uniform. She caught the disappointed look on her mum's face but ignored it. Smithy however, looked pleased and smiled broadly when she came in.

As they left to go out, Dave called, "Behave yourselves!" and laughed raucously.

"Sorry about my mum and dad." Molly said as they walked down the street.

Smithy glanced at her in surprise, "They're alright, Molly!"

He was clearly as happy with them as they were with him.

Emerging from the underground station at Piccadilly Circus, Smithy looked around him full of interest taking in all the large advertising hoardings declaring 'Guinness is Good for you', and advertising Schweppes Tonic Water and Bovril. He was disappointed by the fact that nothing was illuminated due to the blackout and the statue of Eros looked less than impressive as it had been boarded up for the duration and plastered in slogans encouraging the public to buy more war bonds. Piccadilly Circus was a hive of activity, bustling with people, buses, cars and taxis. Soldier, sailors and airman of every allied nationality could be seen in the street and Molly knew it was a favoured location for any soldier wishing to meet girls. At the entrance to the underground station, seeing the highly made-up women trying to catch the attention of any man in uniform with calls such as, "Hello Yank, " or "Hello Dearie" she recognised the 'Piccadilly Commandos' waiting for clients and knew that as the darkness fell they would advertise their wares by shining torches on their ankles to attract lonely passers-by. Whether Smithy noticed them she couldn't tell but he seemed enthralled by the bustle and vibrancy of the street and she was glad that he was enjoying himself. Struggling to keep up with him in the crowds, Molly took his arm and together they made their way across the busy junction.

They went to eat at the Lyons Corner House. It was Molly's turn to be impressed as she had never been there before and was pleasantly surprised by the choice of different restaurants on different floors and the fact that a small band and a string quartet were playing for customers' entertainment. With restaurant food being off-ration, eating out was a popular choice for those with money to spend. Viewing the menu, officiously printed with the warning _'FOOD is a munition of war – Don't waste it',_ Molly and Smithy chose a three course meal with a small coffee to follow for the reasonable sum of one shilling and sixpence each and after giving the Nippy the order sat back and looked around them. The restaurant was busy and bustling and in spite of Molly's initial misgivings about going out on the town with Smithy she felt that she might enjoy herself anyway.

"It's funny isn't it?" Smithy began, "How fate brings people together."

Molly looked at him blankly, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you were on leave and I got a forty-eight hour pass and was going to visit my Mam and then ended up being here with you instead."

He was looking at her directly and more seriously than she liked. She tried to lighten the mood,

"No, Smithy, you just fancied a good time out in London and me being here was convenient, admit it!"

Slightly embarrassed, he smiled and pretended that she was right, "Yes, you've caught me out!"

Their meal when it arrived was reasonable and as they ate it they talked about the station and people they knew. Avoiding the question that was burning in her mind, Molly said,

"Why didn't Berry want to go on leave?"

Smithy shrugged, "I don't think his parents are alive now and his sister lives a long way off. He just didn't have anywhere to go for forty eight hours."

She was about to summon up the courage to ask about Flight Lieutenant James when Smithy saved her the trouble, "I don't know why the Skipper didn't go. When Geraint was on his crew, he said he was always running up to London and liked a good night out. I haven't seen him do that since I've been with him."

Although she was young, Molly could see that a man like Flight Lieutenant James must have been changed over time by his experiences. When he was on his first operational tour in bombers as Skipper of Geraint's crew, he had probably wanted as many opportunities as possible to divert his mind from the work he was doing. She had seen some of the younger more inexperienced crews at The White Horse drinking fairly heavily and getting quite loud and raucous of an evening. James knew how to be amiable with his crew and would share a joke with any of them but he had a more measured approach to his relaxation. She knew that he couldn't help but be changed by more than sixty operations any more than Smithy had been changed by those he had completed.

After they had eaten and paid their bill they left the restaurant and strolled through the streets watching the rest of the world pass them by on their way to dine, to dance or be entertained at one of the many theatres or cinemas. Neither Molly nor Smithy had ever been to a West End show and as they made their way through the streets to the Opera House they stopped to look at posters advertising plays, musicals and reviews. Standing outside the Palace Theatre, Smithy was taken by the poster for the Jack Hylton review 'Hi-de-Hi' starring Crazy Gang members Flanagan and Allen and the impersonator and comedienne Florence Desmond.

"I'd love to see that. You don't get shows like that in Newport." Smithy exclaimed.

"Do you get shows at all?" Molly asked cheekily.

Smithy gave her a mock offended look, "I'll have you know, that entertainment does exist in Wales. The local amateur dramatic society puts on a show at least twice a year!"

Molly laughed, London must seem like a different world to someone like Smithy. Even to someone like her the West End was very different to East Ham and treats such as a night like this were rare. London was certainly a magnet for any young soldier, sailor or airman seeking to divert his thoughts from the realities of what he had to face in the armed services.

Reaching the Royal Opera House, Smithy took in the grandeur of the Corinthian Portico and said very little other than,

"Are you sure this isn't Buckingham Palace, Molly? Are they going to let _us_ in?"

They paid their entrance fee and entered the auditorium where both Molly and Smithy were rendered speechless by the sight that met them. The seats in the stalls had been removed to create a large dance floor and a big-band was located on the stage. The acoustics of the building were ideal for music and the sound soared and echoed around them. They stared in wonder at the amphitheatre with its four tiers of balconies and galleries. It was sight, the like of which, neither of them had ever seen before.

The dance floor was packed with couples, the vast majority in uniform. Without any further ado, Smithy grasped Molly's hand and led her onto the dance floor. They moved around to a mid-tempo song performing a passable foxtrot in the crush. No sooner had they finished their first dance than a 'Gentleman's Excuse Me' was announced and Molly found herself whisked around the floor by a series of different men with significantly differing degrees of skill. She was actually glad when the dance was over and she managed to return to Smithy's company. They went to the bar to get a drink.

"Well what do you think?" Molly asked him

"It certainly knocks the Station Dance into a cocked hat." Smithy smiled, "I'll go so far as to say it could give Newport Town Hall on a Saturday night a run for its money"

Molly laughed. She was finding Smithy better company than she had expected and she decided that as much as she hadn't wanted to come here tonight she should try to make the best of things so that they would both have a pleasant time. They put down their drinks and enjoyed a few more dances. Once or twice Molly was approached by other men: an American GI and a Free French Army Soldier. The GI, Walter, invited her for a very lively Jitterbug much to Smithy's amusement. She wasn't very experienced at the Jitterbug but it seemed easy enough to pick up the steps and her partner was very enthusiastic. The Free French Army soldier, who told her his name was Etienne, impressed her not only with his excellent dancing but also his command of English which she had to admit, was probably better than her own. On each occasion she had been approached for a dance, Molly noted that Smithy had happily relinquished her and she felt relieved that he wasn't treating her as being exclusively his dance partner.

Molly and Smithy were just about to take to the floor again when the band suddenly stopped and the band leader turned to the microphone calling for silence.

"Ladies and Gentleman there is an air raid in progress. If you wish to make your way to the air raid shelters, please leave now."

From outside the building they could hear the rising wail of the air raid siren and around them some people were starting to make their way out of the auditorium. Molly and Smithy looked at each other.

"What do you reckon, Molly? Shall we go to the shelters or take our chances?" Smithy asked, bowing to her experience in these matters.

"It might be a false alarm but my Mum would never forgive me if I copped it dancing." Molly replied. She had never forgotten hearing about the bomb that had dropped directly onto the dance floor of the Café de Paris in its' supposedly bomb-proof basement, killing many of the dancers as well as the famous bandleader, Ken 'Snake Hips' Johnson. Her decision was made.

"We'd better go, Smithy."

As they made their way out of the auditorium they heard the band strike up again determined to keep on playing no matter what was thrown at them. They walked through the foyer and followed directions to the nearest public shelter. Near them they could see many people standing around scanning the skies, some actually interested by the spectacle of seeing a bombing raid take place now that these happened so infrequently in London.

"What are they gawping at?" Molly said irritated and grasped Smithy's arm to make sure they were not separated in the crowd. In the distance the drone of aeroplane engines could be heard approaching.

They found the public shelter fifty yards along the street. Molly wasn't initially keen to enter it. Many Londoners avoided the brick and concrete built surface shelters because their design could be unsafe if a bomb exploded nearby. Molly had heard of the concrete roofs being lifted by the blast and falling in on the occupants. However, this one had been improved by the addition of an outer blast wall and she hoped it would stand up the job if tested. Inside the shelter it was dark, dank and smelly. Molly wrinkled her nose and tried to ignore the fact that some people had obviously used it as a public lavatory. There were benches lining the sides of the shelter and Smithy and Molly found a space to sit half way down. More people were entering every minute, many of them couples enjoying a night out and some were using this little diversion as an opportunity to get better acquainted in the darker recesses of the shelter.

No one had been expecting an air raid to happen as there hadn't been one in London for months. Just her luck, Molly thought, the first time she'd gone out and this had to happen! The sirens had stopped wailing and the noise of the bombers' engines was growing ever closer. In the distance the first sound of bombs exploding could be heard. Then the reassuring response of the Ack-Ack batteries started and a small cheer went up inside the shelter. Being on the receiving end of anti-aircraft fire on a regular basis, Smithy knew that the firing wasn't always very accurate but it served its purpose in making bombing more difficult and raising the morale of those under attack.

Molly and Smithy sat on the bench alongside one another saying very little as the raid grew more intense. Most of the bombs seemed to be falling further away to the West but Molly, remembering all the nights she had spent in shelters three years ago, knew that at any moment the direction could change. She also feared for her mum and dad and hoped they had gone to the local shelter. The raid lasted for about an hour. Sometimes the bombing seemed more intense and nearer, sometimes fainter and further from them. Only twice were there explosions nearby and each time they felt the vibrations in the walls and through the ground beneath them. At the first of these explosions, she felt Smithy reach for her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. He kept hold of her hand. She didn't need it but she also didn't have the heart to snatch it away from him.

As the crumps and thuds became more distant, the droning noise of aeroplane engines faded and the Ack-Ack guns grew silent, it seemed likely that the raid was nearly over. However, Molly, with the knowledge of a Blitz veteran, that there could be another wave over before the all clear sounded and so they sat on for another half an hour or so waiting for the confirmation that the raid had finished.

The couple of gins she had drunk, the dancing and the late hour were contributing to a weariness that was overtaking her limbs. She rested her head against the brick wall behind her and shut her eyes trying to rest. As she sat like this she became aware of someone moving a strand of her hair back behind her ear and finger tips lightly touching her face. She knew it was Smithy and without opening her eyes said, quietly in a weary but not unfriendly tone,

"If you touch me again, I'll have to call the warden over."

She didn't see Smithy smiling sheepishly.

"You're lucky you've got my company, Molly, you could have been sitting here with some Yank."

She opened her eyes and turned to look at him with amusement on her face.

"Why exactly would that have been unlucky, Smithy?"

"Well you know what they say about Yanks." He began with a smile.

"Well paid, well dressed and nice manners?" Molly offered.

"That's not what I was thinking." Smithy replied but she could see he was amused too.

"Maybe, _I'll_ go to America one day, when the war is over." He continued. "Would you like to go to America, Molly?"

She appeared to be weighing it up, "I could see myself working with aeroplanes out there or maybe even learning to fly. What about you?" She turned her head towards him. He was staring at her and she felt slightly uncomfortable again.

"I dunno. Perhaps some type of gangster, like Jimmy Cagney. If you came with me you could be my moll." They stared at each other before the realisation of the unconscious play on words caused them to burst out laughing and broke the silence and the tension. They sat on in companionable silence for a while longer and then thankfully the all clear sounded. There would be no second wave of bombers tonight.

Emerging from the shelter out into the night air there was a smell of smoke and cordite but no damage in the immediate vicinity. A little further away they saw fireman putting out a blaze in the middle of a row of terraced houses caused by some incendiary bombs that had fallen. It was past midnight and neither Molly nor Smithy were keen to return to the Dance Hall. They made their way to the nearest underground station and started the journey back to East Ham. By the time they reached Molly's home it was after one o'clock in the morning. Molly's mum was waiting up for her, worried because of the air raid.

"Oh, thank Gawd, you two are alright." She exclaimed as they walked through the door, "Of all the luck to get caught in the only raid we've had for months."

She busied herself sorting out a bed for Smithy on the couch and he turned to look at Molly who was yawning.

"Well, I've had a nice evening, Molly, thank you."

She smiled and realised that she had also enjoyed his company as a friend.

"In spite of the air raid?" She asked.

Smithy lowered his voice and winked at her, "Wasn't all bad!"

She wished him good night and went off to bed but the feeling of unease had returned.


	10. Chapter 10

James put down the newspaper he had been attempting to read for the last twenty minutes and sighed. Glancing around him in the Officer's Mess he could see two other occupants, both middle aged squadron leaders from Admin who only flew a desk these days. It was his own fault he was bored and at a loose end. He knew he could have taken a pass like most of his crew and gone away somewhere for a couple of days, but he couldn't think of anywhere to go that held enough attraction for him. He could have gone to visit his parents although they had moved out of their town house in Bath after it was damaged by the Baedeker raids in April last year. They were now living in a cottage his mother's cousin had lent them, in the Somerset countryside, south of Bath. Making a return journey to the back of beyond with only a short leave was a challenge. He only had limited petrol supplies for his car, so public transport was his only option and he didn't rate his chances of getting there and back in forty eight hours.

James knew that the real reason he was reluctant to go anywhere was because there was only one person he was interested in spending time with and he couldn't be with her. He glanced at the clock and smiled to himself, at least she would be back today within the next few hours. After Molly had left him at the railway station he had felt empty and heavy-hearted. He had wanted to say so much more to her but he couldn't find the right words to express how he felt. It had just seemed so important to speak to her before she left and he had been in such a hurry to catch up with her that he hadn't thought about what he would actually say.

The request for 'special blend' had been dreamed up on the spur of the moment. He just hadn't wanted her to forget about him. It was all he could think of and goodness knows what Molly must have thought. He had berated himself later. What kind of idiot would ask a girl he liked, more than liked, to fetch him a can of oil? She seemed to have taken the request in good part but more than that he was sure from the way she had looked at him and the tone of her voice when she hadn't wanted to leave that she liked him too.

He had recalled many times during the last few days how it had felt to hold her hand and be so close to her. He had wanted to say so much and yet still something was holding him back. How did you tell someone that they had become important in your life but that you couldn't promise them anything? What right did he have to say that to her? What right did he have to ask anything from her when he couldn't promise that he would even be here tomorrow? Other thoughts had crossed his mind. The disparity in their lives beyond RAF Milton did not escape him. He was not a snob. He'd met far too many good men from humble backgrounds to whom he would entrust his life, to ever think disparagingly of anyone who'd had a less advantageous upbringing than himself. However, he recognised that being from different backgrounds presented challenges beyond life in the services.

When Molly had asked James if he would stay in the RAF after the war he had answered truthfully that he couldn't think beyond the end of this tour. However, for the first time since returning for his third tour of operations he began to wish that he had something he could offer Molly in terms of a promise of his safety and yet he knew that without volunteering for this third tour it was unlikely they would ever have met. He had started the tour with nothing more in mind then doing the job he was good at and doing the best for his crew. He had not had any particular thoughts about his own future or safety. He accepted the risks and intended to do everything he could to safeguard his crew but he knew that you couldn't fly at your best with fear uppermost in your mind.

Leaving the Mess to return to his quarters, James ran into Kinders who had also declined the offer of a forty eight hour pass. He at least had a smile on his face and James suspected it was due to a certain WAAF Corporal in Ops by the name of Eileen.

Kinders saluted James as was their normal habit on first meeting each day.

"Did you have a good evening, Archie?"

"Very nice indeed, thanks, Skip!"

"No regrets about passing up on the leave, then?"

Kinders shook his head. "None at all. The only person I wanted to see was here."

"Well, everyone will be back later this morning and I've arranged a training flight for this afternoon."

"Righto, Skip!" Kinders nodded and then carried on his way and James watched him feeling envious and wishing Molly could have been here for him.

Molly looked out of the train window watching the countryside rushing by and felt glad to be returning to RAF Milton. Sitting opposite her in the carriage, Smithy had nodded off much to Molly's relief as he had been chattering on for the past hour and a half and she had wanted some time to gather her own thoughts. After the eventful night out, the following day had passed more quietly. Smithy had accompanied Dave to the Earl of Wakefield at lunchtime and Molly had been glad of some time with her mum although the conversation had soon turned to Smithy. Her mum was still singing his praises.

"You've got a good 'un there."

Molly really wanted to stop her mother making comments like these,

"Mum, he's just a friend, that's all. There aren't going to be any wedding bells."

Her mum looked disappointed, "Plenty of people are getting hitched, these days."

Molly knew this was true. No one wanted to wait any more. Time was precious and young people were determined to grasp every moment of happiness with both hands. She tried another tack.

"The other day you were telling me how you thought you could have done more in your life. Well, right now I am doing more than I ever thought I would. I've found something I love doing and I'm good at it. Do you think I'd want to give all that up just to be married to someone so that I can cook his dinners and wash his socks?"

Her mum was silent. There was a wistful look on her face as if she was remembering some other time when things had been different.

"It weren't always like that with your Dad, Molly. He wasn't always the way he is now. When we first got married he had plans. He was going to be someone and make a success of himself." Remembering the past had made her feel sad. Molly could see it written in her face and wanted to encourage her somehow.

"But you could still make some changes, Mum. What about your friend, Cynthia, she's got lots of ideas. Why don't you try to get Dad involved as well? Perhaps if you got _him_ to grow the vegetables he'd be able to see himself making a success of something for once." She suggested.

Her mum laughed softly,

"He claimed he had green fingers when we first met. He told me he helped his Grandad grow some prize winning roses."

"Well there you are then." Molly exclaimed seizing on this idea, "Get Dad involved. Ask him for his opinion or advice."

Her mum smiled, "Don't know about him and Cynthia, though." They looked at each other and laughed.

"But you like Cynthia, don't you Mum?" Molly said.

"She's a good sort. I never would have thought I'd be friends with someone like her but she rolls up her sleeves and gets on with things, in spite of her posh ways." Her mum said.

"It's the war." Molly reflected, "Its' brought lots of people together who would never normally have met."

In the evening she and Smithy had gone to the Gaumont cinema in the High Street to see the latest Gainsborough Picture 'The Man in Grey'. Although it was a romantic period drama which neither would normally have made their first choice, Smithy admitted to a partiality for Margaret Lockwood and Molly found Stewart Granger's roguish Adventurer appealing and the film provided sufficient entertainment for a couple of hours. They enjoyed listening to the organist in the interval and joined in enthusiastically with singing 'Roll out the Barrel'. Thankfully there was no repeat of last night's air raid, so the evening passed uneventfully apart from the moment Molly suspected that Smithy was about to put his arm around the back of her chair and try to casually drop it down onto her shoulder. She gave him a sharp glance and said.

"Hands off, Smithy!"

He sheepishly returned his arm to its normal position and behaved himself for the rest of the film.

Now returning on the train her thoughts naturally moved to Flight Lieutenant James. In her kitbag, well wrapped in an old cloth, she had the small can of oil for Rosa. The thought of it made her smile. It was a strange thing to ask her to do but she had been glad that it had given her the chance to meet Ted Foxton and she realised now even more than she had before, just how many people held Flight Lieutenant James in high esteem. It made his regard for her seem even more precious.

The train was approaching Grantley station and Molly leaned forward and tapped Smithy on the shoulder.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!" Smithy opened his eyes and blinked trying to focus on her.

"Are we here already?" He pulled a face and sat up straight, "I wish we'd had longer."

Molly didn't.

The bus from Grantley dropped them a hundred yards from the main gate at RAF Milton and they made their way up the road carrying their kit bags over their shoulders. The sergeant at the main gate checked their passes and let them through.

James, knowing that Molly was due back from leave by noon had deliberately found a reason to hang around outside the Admin block, knowing that she would have to pass through this way on her way back to her quarters. As he saw her round the corner of the building his spirits soared and he felt his heart beat faster. A broad smile overspread his face but he was equally surprised when a second later Smithy appeared behind her and catching James eye before Molly had, he called out,

"Morning, Skip," and saluted him. Molly looked up sharply and being slightly confused also saluted him. He returned their salutes and stopped to speak to them both.

"Good leave, Smithy?"

"The bees knees, thank you, Sir." James hadn't realised that Newport had so much to offer but didn't enquire further and Smithy catching sight of Kinders coming towards them wandered over to him.

"How about you, Dawes?" James turned his gaze upon her, a smile hovering on his lips and looking at him she felt that she might blush.

"It was alright, Sir. I could have done without the air raid. Hitler must have known I'd gone home. But I'm glad to be back."

James laughed softly, "Really?"

They looked directly into one another's eyes. "Yes, I wanted to come back."

At that moment they both heard Kinders exclaim, "You didn't go to Newport?"

Smithy looked across to where Molly and James were standing and said, "No never got there. The lure of the 'Big Smoke' was too much. You had to put up with me, didn't you, Molly?"

James was confused. It was written all over his face. What did Smithy mean? He looked at Molly for clarification but before she could speak, Kinders had already piped up,

"You two have been out on the town then?"

The news hit him like a hammer blow. The expression on his face changed and as he looked at Molly she saw it had become cold and closed. He shook his head in disbelief. How could he have been so mistaken in her? He turned towards Smithy and Kinders.

"Be ready for a training flight at fourteen thirty hours, I've already made arrangements at dispersal." Without looking at Molly again he turned on his heel and strode off.

Molly watched him walk away and was overcome with shock and anguish. The look on his face had driven a knife through her. She looked at Smithy and felt anger rise up in her. It was only the presence of Kinders and the realisation that she couldn't let anyone else know what she was feeling that stopped her from shouting at him right there and then. She picked up her kitbag and without another word made her way to her quarters to get changed.

By the time James had reached dispersal he had heard the outline details of Smithy's leave. It sounded as if he and Molly had had a good time seeing the sights, dancing at the Royal Opera House, going to the pictures, even the air raid sounded as if it had offered some cosy moments for the pair of them. Smithy seemed to have made himself at home and Molly had enjoyed herself as well. James tried to be fair to her. He knew from Smithy's own admission that he had turned up uninvited but it was the fact that he had been made so welcome at her house and Molly seemed to have no compunction about spending time in his company that rankled with him. He began to be irritated by Smithy's conversation and wanted to be anywhere else other than sitting next to him for a couple of hours in the Lancaster. When the truck arrived at dispersal almost the first person James saw was Molly. She was waiting with the ground crew. He studiously avoided her gaze and busied himself preparing for the flight.

Molly desperately wanted to say something. She knew that James had misunderstood what had happened. She could see that he was angry with her and it hurt her so much to think this was all because of Smithy's thoughtlessness. A small part of her began to wonder if she was to blame for this situation and that perhaps she should have sent Smithy packing when he had arrived at her home but she knew that this course of action would never been a realistic option. It would have been incredibly rude and her parents wouldn't have understood.

Needing to carry out a pre-flight check Molly saw an opportunity to wander over to James. He saw her out of the corner of his eye but tried not to look. Her heart was thumping painfully in her chest but she said tentatively,

"Are you alright, Sir?"

He couldn't avoid answering as much as he wanted to and turning towards her, his face cold and set he said harshly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

His words cut her to the quick and he saw it. She couldn't reply. She turned away from him and walked back into the hangar. In spite of the hurt he felt at this moment, he was immediately sorry.

The training flight had been uneventful. Fingerson had carried out some wireless checks. They had practised some manoeuvres for use over the target that they had discussed and agreed on as a crew and Berry who had had a modification to his bomb sight made, tested it with some practice runs. After ninety minutes James asked Kinders to plot a course for Milton. He gave him the heading and James set it on the compass.

James had found Smithy's presence next to him an annoyance. He maintained the civility that was necessary but was unwilling to get involved with any chit-chat as he sometimes did. They all knew that they weren't supposed to use the intercom for idle chat but on a training flight when everyone was more relaxed James usually allowed them to talk amongst themselves as long it wasn't excessive. Today he became irritated every time Smithy passed a comment to Mansfield or asked Kinders how his evening out in Grantley with WAAF Corporal Johnson had gone to the point that he snapped over the intercom.

"If you chaps don't pipe down I'll put you on a charge!"

It was uncharacteristic of the Skipper and Smithy raised his eyebrows in surprise but had the good sense not to remark upon it.

After twenty minutes of silence, James started looking around him expecting to see the familiar landscape surrounding RAF Milton which would guide his descent and approach to the station. Nothing seemed familiar. He spoke over the intercom.

"Pilot to Navigator. Any sign of the approach to Milton, Archie?"

There was a short pause before the reply came back,

"Negative, Skip."

James sighed, this was unusual. Looking around him he thought the landscape reminded him of the country further south of Milton. They had once flown an extended training mission over this part of the country. He called over the intercom,

"Pilot to Navigator. What was the last heading you gave me because we're nowhere bloody near Milton."

Kinders went back to his log and checked the bearing he had calculated and given to his Skipper.

"Navigator to Pilot. The last heading was two four one, Skip."

James glanced down at the compass and his heart sank. He had set the compass on the bearing two one four. They were heading in the wrong direction and they were carrying a lot less fuel than normal. He had made a mistake.

"Pilot to crew. Sorry chaps, I've set the wrong heading on the compass. Ray, can you get on to Milton and get a fix for our current position. Archie, when we've got the fix can you calculate the shortest return route. In the meantime I will fly on a temporary heading of three one five."

He could kick himself it was an elementary mistake not to double check the compass when setting a new course. He would usually have asked Smithy to check the setting with him but he had allowed his personal annoyance with him to overrule his sense. He knew that he hadn't been focussing on what he needed to do and he was very fortunate that it had happened now and not on an operation.

He concentrated all his efforts on turning the aeroplane around whilst waiting for information to come through from Fingerson and Kinders. In the meantime he asked Smithy to calculate the amount of fuel still on board and their maximum range. Milton came through with a position fix and then Kinders plotted the course correction. They were fortunate that they had sufficient fuel on board as allowance had been made for a longer flight than was normally the case with a test flight. Within half an hour RAF Milton was within sight. They landed safely and taxied to the dispersal point.

By the time 'Charlie' had returned, Molly had resolved upon finding out what Smithy had said about their time in London. She felt sure that Flight Lieutenant James had been told something. His response to her question had hurt her so much and it all felt so unjust. She had gone on leave full of wonder and flattered that he appeared to be telling her that he liked her and now she felt as small as she had that first day when he had treated her with such arrogance and disdain. They were late back from their training flight and as soon as the crew disembarked she heard Nuttall mentioning that the Skipper had set the wrong course on the compass. James had climbed down from 'Charlie' and walked off purposefully into the hangar with Corporal Barker. Smithy wandered in her direction smiling at her. No one else was around and no sooner had he reached her then she said without any preamble,

"What did you say to the crew about your leave in London?"

Smithy was taken aback by the accusatory tone of her voice.

"Nothing! Just that you and I had a look at the sights together, went dancing and your mam and dad were good enough to put me up. It wasn't a secret was it?"

She realised that she hadn't asked Smithy to keep the details to himself so she couldn't really blame him for telling the others but she was still dismayed at the way it must have sounded to Flight Lieutenant James.

Smithy smiled at her as if a penny had finally dropped.

"Look Molly, I understand you don't want people talking about us. I didn't go into details."

This was exactly what she had feared. She was trying to keep her voice down and consequently her whispered response sounded more like an angry hiss.

"There is no 'us', Smithy. We're friends. That's all!" She stared at him, "Can't you just be my friend?"

He looked at her with an intensity she hadn't seen since they'd argued on the day of the aeroplane crash. When he spoke he sounded very serious.

"No, Molly. I can't be your friend because I love you."

The situation she had feared and had tried so hard to avoid was now staring her in the face. Feeling distraught but unable to say or do anything in the presence of so many other people she took the only course possible and turning her back on Smithy walked away. She kept walking until she was as far away as she could reasonably go and out of sight of everyone and finally gave way to her emotions, weeping bitterly for everything that had been ruined and lost in the space of a few hours.

Later that evening, feeling very low spirited, Molly returned to her quarters to find Jackie getting ready for an evening out at The White Horse.

"Are you coming down?" She asked.

When Molly silently shook her head she said, "I suppose you had a much better time in London."

Molly sat down heavily on her bed.

"If you only knew how much I wish I'd stayed here."

Jackie looked surprised. "Didn't you enjoy your leave?"

Molly exhaled deeply and said, "Let's just say it's caused me no end of troubles."

"Well," Jackie said looking directly at Molly, "My Dad always says there's only one way to face your troubles and that is head-on!"

She turned away from Molly and carried on getting ready, pinning up her hair, applying face powder and a touch of lipstick. Molly watched her thinking about what she had said and slowly a plan formed in her mind. By the time Jackie had left she was resolved on tackling the source of her unhappiness head on.

Reaching into her kitbag she located the oil can containing Rosa's 'Special Blend' and took it out. She left her quarters and made her way across the station towards the Officer's Mess. She could see that Rosa was parked on the far side of the parade ground but it was no guarantee that James was inside. Making her way around to the back of the building she located the kitchen door and opening it asked one of the cooks to find her friend, Frances. Frances came to the door wiping her hands on her overalls and was surprised to see Molly.

"What is it Molly?"

"I've got something I need to give Flight Lieutenant James. Do you know if he's in the Mess?"

Frances nodded. "Yes, I saw him having his dinner half an hour ago. I was clearing up and I thought I saw him in there having a drink and chatting with some other officers. Do you want me to find an orderly?"

"No." Molly said hastily, "It's alright. I'll go round to the main entrance myself. I just thought I'd save time asking you first."

She knew it was a very lame excuse but Frances didn't appear suspicious. Molly had no intention of going into the Officers Mess and drawing attention to herself. Instead she decided she would wait around the corner out of sight of the entrance but where she was able to see all the comings and goings. She resolved to wait, for however long it took, until Flight Lieutenant James appeared.

Whilst Molly had been watching Jackie get ready to go out she had decided that she couldn't bear Flight Lieutenant James believing that she had been deceitful in some way because she concluded that was how it must seem to him. She had been waiting for about twenty minutes when she suddenly caught sight of him strolling out of the building and across the parade ground in the direction of his car. He was alone and walking slowly. He looked downhearted and Molly wanted more than anything to see him smile at her again the way he had this morning with genuine pleasure at the sight of her.

Molly took a deep breath and set out at a brisk pace across the parade ground towards James. She was just about to draw level with him and he had turned his head at the sound of her approach, obviously surprised at the sight of her, when another officer came out of the Mess and called to him. He looked around to see a Pilot Officer called Mortimer heading in his direction. Molly knew that she could either pass both of them by and pretend that she had not wanted to speak to James or brazen it out by stopping and making an excuse. However, she had set out with a purpose and was determined to see it through. She reached James at almost the same moment as Mortimer and decided to stand her ground. She stopped and allowed James to speak first.

"What is it, Dawes?"

"Your car, Sir. I've brought the oil you needed." She lifted the oil can containing the special blend. "You said you wanted to do a test drive and check out that everything was running alright, now."

James looked at her trying to fathom why she was doing this. She was looking at him with a suitably neutral expression on her face and he knew that it was his choice whether to play along or expose her ploy to get his attention. Glancing at Mortimer and knowing what a gossip he could be in the Mess, against his better judgment he decided to play along.

"Sorry, Mortimer. I'd forgotten about this. Can we catch up tomorrow?"

Mortimer took in the sight of the WAAF Flight Mechanic dressed in overalls and carrying an oil can and nodded his agreement at James. He took a few steps away from them both but didn't leave entirely. James conscious of him within earshot felt compelled to continue the charade.

"Well, hop in Dawes, and let me know how you think she sounds." He said.

They both got into his car and he started the engine. He drove away from the Officer's Mess but looking in the mirror he could still see Mortimer watching them. He reached the main gate and the Sergeant waved them through. They turned right and sped away from the station.

They had travelled a few hundred yards before James spoke.

"What are you doing, Dawes?" He sounded terse but Molly thought he was more confused than angry with her.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I just needed a chance to talk to you alone. You wouldn't let me explain before." She had to raise her voice above the noise of the engine to be heard.

He said nothing but he relaxed his pressure on the accelerator and the car slowed down considerably making it much easier to talk.

"Nothing happened with Smithy." Molly said, praying he would believe her. "He just turned up. I didn't invite him." She paused before adding, "But at least now I know."

"What are you talking about? What do you know?" James said without looking away from the road. Molly's courage almost failed her but she resolved that she had come this far and she couldn't stop now. She took a deep breath and spoke from the heart.

"I couldn't believe that someone like you would be interested in me. I just didn't want you to go off on another operation thinking that I don't care because I do. I'm… fond of you."

She had turned to look at him and he was conscious of her watching him. She saw the muscles in his jaw twitching as if he was struggling to think of a response. In this moment she took the final ounce of the courage she possessed and said simply,

"Do you love me?"

She had definitely caught him by surprise. Taking his eyes from the road he turned his head to look at her startled by her words but she could see that all the coldness was gone. He looked as though he was about to answer until Molly, catching sight of something ahead, shouted,

"Watch out!" He turned his head back to the road just in time to see a heap lying on the left hand side of the road. He swerved to avoid it but as they passed Molly, cried,

"It's a person, Stop!"

James hit the brakes and the car came to a screeching halt thirty yards away. In an instant Molly had opened the passenger door and was running back with James following closely behind her. As she reached the person lying close to the edge of the road she could see it was a man. He was dressed in a brown suit and bent double, lying on his side. Kneeling down in the road she leaned over him calling,

"Are you alright?"

She heard a groaning sound and he moved and rolled towards her slightly. She saw his face for the first time and gasped. He had clearly been beaten black and blue, his face was a mass of cuts and bruises, his lips swollen, one eye almost closed up but she recognised Bill Tyler. He was semi-conscious and clearly quite badly hurt.

James took charge.

"He needs to go to a hospital. I'll go and get help. Can you stay here with him? I'll try to get back as soon as I can." There was no other option.

James got back into his car and headed back towards the station. In the fading evening light Molly found herself kneeling in the roadside with Hattie's father knowing that he was in a very bad way. After five minutes he opened his eyes and she heard him trying to speak. His voice was weak, little more than a whisper. She had to bend very close to him to hear his words.

"It's your fault!"

She was taken aback.

"What do you mean?"

"All this it's cos of you." His eyes flew open and he was looking at her wildly, "You put the coppers onto me and put me out of business." He was struggling to breathe and she loosened his tie.

"Don't speak. Save your strength." She told him, but he reached and grabbed her overalls with a surprising amount of strength pulling her down towards him.

"Owed them money and couldn't pay. Beat me up, cos of you, you interfering bitch!" He almost spat the final words at her. She could see the hatred in his eyes as he spoke and was horror struck at his words and the thought that she might be the cause of this. He started to cough and groan in pain and Molly saw a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. She felt panicked.

"Lie still. Help's coming." She prayed that it would arrive soon. He became quieter and stopped talking and she sat in silence with him hearing nothing but his uneven breathing as it became more and more shallow.

Ten minutes later she heard the ringing bell of an ambulance growing louder by the second as it raced towards her. She stood up in the road and waved at it to stop. It came to a halt nearby and two uniformed ambulance men got out carrying a stretcher. They placed Bill Tyler on the stretcher with a blanket over him. As they did so she caught an exchange of looks between the two men; one of them silently shook his head and she realised they doubted he would survive. After they had loaded him into the back of the ambulance one of the men asked if Molly wanted to go with them to the hospital but she declined. The ambulance drove off in the direction of Grantley and she watched it until it had disappeared from sight.

She felt numb. At this moment it felt as if everything had spiralled out of her control. At the beginning of the day coming back from leave she had been filled with hope and enjoying the first wonderful fluttering sensations of being attracted to someone who liked her too. In the space of one day she felt as if everything had gone wrong and now the possible death of Hattie's father seemed to be laid at her door as well. Her legs felt suddenly weak and unable to support herself she sank down onto the grass verge at the roadside and placed her head in her hands.

After returning to the station to call an ambulance and being delayed again by Mortimer, James had driven directly to the hospital in Grantley expecting to find Molly there but he was informed that she had declined to accompany them. He did however find out that Bill Tyler had died before he reached the hospital and reasoned that Molly must have known he was dying. He was worried. He drove swiftly back along the road thinking that he might find Molly walking back to the station or even returned already. It was almost dark and he had turned on the headlamps of the car even though the small amount of light emitted by the blackout covers only provided a very small beam. It was however, just enough to make out the figure of a person sitting all alone on a grass verge by the side of the road close to where Tyler had been found; hunched up and clasping her knees. He stopped the car, got out and walked over to her. She didn't get to her feet or look up as he drew near so he bent down to her level.

"Molly?"

She raised her head and their eyes met.

"You called me Molly."

He smiled at her, "It's your name isn't it?"

She nodded. After a short while she said.

"It was my fault."

"What?" he asked.

"Bill Tyler's probably dead by now and it's because I interfered. He was beaten up because he owed money. He said it was my fault he couldn't pay it and he's right."

James reached out to her and physically drew her upwards and towards him enfolding her in his arms.

"You are not to blame." He said hugging her fiercely, "He is to blame for anything that has happened to him." At this moment he couldn't bring himself to tell her Tyler was dead. He also knew that the Police would want to speak to her but everything could wait.

Her face was buried in his chest and he could feel tension and shuddering in her body each time she breathed in and out. They stood in silence like this for several minutes until he felt her relax slightly and he released his hold on her a little allowing her to move her head away from him a fraction. She looked up at him and in the dim light of the headlamps he could see the reflection of tears on her face and knew that she had been crying silently. He gazed down at her and said softly,

"The only thing you are to blame for is making me fall in love with you."

He leaned towards her and she instinctively tilted her face towards him as he kissed her tenderly.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a fine late September morning. The sun was high in a cloudless sky bathing the aerodrome in the golden light of autumn. James strolled purposefully around the perimeter fence whistling to himself and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. In the distance he could see the small figure of Molly riding towards him on her bicycle and smiled in anticipation of their meeting. As she drew level with him he could see that her beaming smile matched his own. She slowed down and stopped. There were no salutes this time.

"Hello Molly."

"Hello….Charles." She hesitated every time she said his name and sometimes he had the impression that she was about to giggle. He knew that she found it strange to think of him as anything other than 'Sir' but when they were alone like this he wanted to hear her call him by his name. It mattered to him that she saw beyond his uniform and rank to the person that he really was.

They didn't embrace. There were too many people on the aerodrome at this time of day to risk such a thing and Charles knew that Molly, who was on duty, would probably end up on a charge if anyone saw them. He had no intention of making any trouble for her. He tried to walk out this way most days just before lunch knowing that Molly, more often than not, would be coming back the other way heading for the Mess. It had become their chance to share a few minutes each day in one another's company and speak freely.

Today as she beamed up at him, her face a little flushed by the warm sunshine and the bicycle ride, he thought yet again how beautiful she was even with an oil smudge on her cheek. Taking out a clean handkerchief from his pocket he glanced around him before leaning towards her and daring to wipe the smudge away.

"You'll ruin your hankie!" Molly exclaimed.

"Doesn't matter. I'll look at the oil stain and think of you." He laughed.

He wished he could hold her. They had so few opportunities to be completely alone together away from the Station. Their jobs made it difficult. Charles' life revolved around operations. If they were on Ops he stayed on the station and spent the day in preparation for flying but 'Charlie' had never flown more than three operations per week and most of the time it was no more than two. Much depended upon Squadron losses and the condition of the returning aeroplanes. He knew that the average life of a Lancaster was seven operations before it was either shot down or so badly damaged that it had to be replaced. 'Charlie' was bucking the trend.

When Charles was not on operations he was mostly free to do as he wished. Molly, in contrast, spent most of her daytime hours at work in the hangar or workshops. The best they could hope for was a half day that coincided now and then or an evening at The White Horse in company with many others. He treasured moments like this when they could be open with one another. On so many other occasions they were bound by convention. He called her 'Dawes' and she called him 'Sir' and maintained the deference that was expected. In public they remained simply Flight Lieutenant James and Aircraftwoman Dawes. The situation was awkward. It was unspoken between them but they both instinctively knew to keep their relationship a quiet matter between themselves.

Both Molly and Charles were conscious that Smithy had feelings for Molly although neither expressed it to the other. Molly had never told Charles about Smithy's declaration because she felt it would be unfair to him to say anything. It could just have been a silly moment that he regretted and she didn't want to cause any trouble. She was trying to be friendly to Smithy but she also wanted to keep her distance as she had no intention of encouraging him to rekindle his affection for her. Charles was also aware that Smithy had a preference for Molly. He recalled how jealous he had been of Smithy's time on leave in London with her and how it had almost ruined everything. If he was entirely truthful, he still _was_ jealous of that time and wished he had been the one dancing with her or holding her hand during an air raid. He knew that Smithy and Molly had been friends but something had disturbed this and he suspected he was at the root cause at least in Molly's mind. Nothing seemed to have changed between himself and Smithy. Smithy was still amiable and co-operative and they worked well as a crew. For this reason he felt that keeping their relationship to themselves was the best course of action. He didn't want to say or do anything to disturb the balance of his crew. Their lives depended on one another.

Charles looked at Molly and wondered when they would next be able to find some time to be together. She must have read his mind because she surprised him by saying,

"Do you think you could get out of going to The White Horse this evening?"

He regarded her suspiciously but a smile hovered around his mouth, "I could make an excuse. What do you have in mind?"

"Could we meet up by the bridge again?" She asked.

They had managed to meet one afternoon when Molly was free at a local beauty spot a couple of miles away having made their separate ways there; Molly on her bicycle, Charles by car on the pretence of driving into Grantley. It had been a lovely afternoon like this and it had been a brief, sweet interlude. He smiled at the memory. They had held hands and strolled along the river bank talking a little about their homes and families until they reached the stone bridge. There they had embraced and kissed hearing nothing but birdsong and the water babbling over the stones and boulders on its way south. In Charles' mind it was a perfect memory of two people enjoying a simple innocent moment away from the harsh realities of war. He had filed it away in his store of happy memories and occasionally while flying in the darkness over Germany when boredom or anxiety threatened him he would revisit it, trying to recapture his feelings.

He smiled at the suggestion to meet at the bridge again and nodded his agreement.

"I'm at your command." He would certainly not pass up on any opportunity to meet alone with her somewhere.

They agreed a time and Charles continued on his way whistling a little more loudly and cheerfully.

As Charles strode off in the opposite direction Molly was sure she recognised the tune he was whistling as _'I Know Why?'_ and she remembered the dance and began to hum the tune herself as she mounted her bicycle to ride over to the Mess. The thought of being able to spend some time with him cheered her. In the weeks since that fateful night they had found Bill Tyler dying by the roadside, everything had changed for her. The moment Charles had taken her in his arms she knew that she loved him. No one but Charles could have saved her from herself that day. She had been at the end of her tether at that moment and he had made everything right. He had taken her back to the station, explained that she had had a shock and made sure she had seen the M.O.

After a good night's sleep they had gone to the Police Station together to give a statement. Molly had told them the little she knew about what had happened to Bill, missing out the part where he had blamed her but she had told Charles about it and the recollection had provoked fresh tears. He had reassured her again that she wasn't to blame. Her common sense told her that he was right but her heart grieved for poor Hattie. Whatever kind of man Bill had been he was still Hattie's father and now she had no one.

Molly's newly discovered love for Charles was a double-edged sword. Acknowledging that they loved each other was the most wonderful feeling she had ever experienced but now whenever he went on operations she suffered agonies of fear. The long hours of waiting, desperately hoping the odds would be kind to them and bring 'Charlie' back safely, were unbearable. Whenever, she heard that an Operation was on for that night she was gripped by a feeling of nausea that stayed with her throughout the day until the early hours of the morning when they returned. Yesterday they had returned from a raid on Essen and 'Charlie' had been delayed again by engine damage. It had been a bad raid, damage was high and they'd loss three crews. Waiting in the darkness she had actually succumbed to the nausea and been violently ill behind the workshop. She never told Charles about her anxieties but she didn't need to. He was no fool and he could see the strain in her blanched face whenever they arrived at dispersal in spite of her valiant attempts to be cheerful.

When they were on operations, she went through the motions doing her job efficiently and doing everything she could to focus her energy on something other than thinking about them. Her only solace was in believing that everything that she did was for his safety. The time passed so slowly once they had departed. She couldn't sleep or rest, read a book or concentrate on listening to the radio. She was locked in her thoughts, flying up there with them twenty thousand feet in the skies over Germany. Jackie understood how she felt although she didn't know anything about Molly and Charles. At least with Jackie she could be honest about her fears for the entire crew without having to mention one person in particular. It helped to have one person who understood.

As Molly approached the Mess she saw Smithy coming towards her although he seemed to be heading towards the Main Gate of the station. She didn't want to be unfriendly but she now approached all conversations with him with a degree of caution that hadn't been necessary before he had told her he loved her.

He smiled at her,

"Hello Molly."

"Hello Smithy. Are you going somewhere?"

"I dunno." He sounded uncharacteristically downhearted and uncertain and she couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

"What's the matter?" she ventured tentatively.

He sighed, "It's my Mam. She wrote me a letter saying that she had a dream, about me."

"What sort of dream?" Molly didn't like the way this was sounding.

"The bad sort, I suppose. She said she had one about Geraint, 'an all." He said rolling his eyes.

Molly was taken aback. She couldn't believe that Smithy's mother would write to tell him something like that.

"Why did she tell you this?" She said incredulously

Smithy looking at Molly and seeing genuine concern in her face was touched. Things had been a bit strained between them since he had made that ill-advised declaration to her. He was glad she was talking to him and showing an interest. For her sake he tried to joke,

"To tell me to be careful I suppose although, it's not me she needs to tell, it's those Jerry buggers! Perhaps she should have sent her letter to Hitler." He quickly added, "Sorry about the language, Molly."

It was the least of her worries she had heard far worse from the ground crew particularly when they were having trouble dismantling engine parts. 'Charlie' had been called every name under the sun in her presence and an apology was seldom forthcoming. She took it as a compliment that she was accepted by the maintenance crew.

"Don't let it bother you." She said trying to sound reassuring. "Dreams don't mean anything, everyone knows that."

"Try telling my Mam!" He shook his head and wandered off disconsolately and Molly could only feel sorry for him.

James arrived at the stone bridge before Molly. He had parked his car just off of the road and walked the short distance along the track towards the woods through which the stream ran. It was a beautiful warm evening. They were having an Indian summer and he loved this time of year. The light changed in autumn it became softer casting a golden hue over the countryside. There would be another hour of light yet before sunset. This was the time that they were usually waiting at dispersal, preparing for take-off and he was often struck by the contrast between him and his crew in a fearsome machine of war, preparing to wreak havoc upon the enemy whilst just a few yards away there was a peaceful pastoral scene unchanged for hundreds of years.

He had only been waiting for five minutes or so when he saw Molly making her way along the path. She had taken off her cap and undone her jacket.

"You look warm!" He called out to her.

"It's alright for you." She joked, "It's uphill all the way here and that's hard work on a bicycle."

As she reached him he opened his arms to her and they embraced. He bent to kiss her and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him close to her. After a couple of minutes he released her and looked down at her. She was framed by the sunlight behind her, a few wispy strands of hair that had escaped from the pins that held them, appeared auburn in the light and the happiness shone in her eyes. He tried to commit this moment to his memory. He was happier than he had been for a very long time and he couldn't help himself saying,

"You don't know how much I want to kiss you sometimes."

"Yes I do." She said smiling back at him, "Because I feel the same."

He took her hand and they walked across the bridge and along the path beside the stream. There was a short circular walk and they strolled at a leisurely pace in step with each other. After a little while she said quietly.

"I spoke to Smithy today."

He gave her a sidelong glance, "Did you?"

"He's a bit worried about a silly letter his mother sent him."

He was intrigued, "What was silly about it?"

She stopped to face him a little wary. "Some nonsense about a dream." She looked up at him with a serious expression on her face, "I told him it meant nothing."

He smiled at her, "Of course!"

They had reached the lowest point of the path at which they needed to turn back. There was a wonderful view across the valley. The sky was gradually turning a rose pink towards sunset and they stopped to admire the landscape.

"Let's sit down." Molly suggested and they settled on a sloping bank taking in the scene below them in silence.

"It's hard to believe there's a war on." Charles said. "I wish it could always be like this."

Molly reached for his hand and as she took hold of it he felt her pull him gently nearer to her. As he leaned over her she lost her balance and fell back against the sloping bank behind her laughing as he followed. Her head was resting on the grass. She gazed up at him, he saw the invitation in her eyes and could not resist.

He leaned in to kiss her and pulled her closer to him delighting in the feel of her body pressed against his. He could tell that it was with a sense of wonder and discovery that she succumbed to his touch. As his hands strayed beneath her jacket and her shirt came loose, allowing his fingers to meet her bare skin, her delight in each new sensation thrilled him. She pressed herself closer to him but as their kiss became more intense something at the back of his mind made him begin to fight against his inclinations. He was older than her, he'd had more experience in life and there had been a few other women. Not many, but he knew better than to go too far. He loved her too much to risk doing anything that might upset her however much his desires threatened to overpower him at this moment. He knew that he wanted more for her than this. She deserved more than a hasty liaison with all its sordid overtones. One day, he prayed, it would be the right time and place for them, but not now; not like this.

He broke away from her and as he did he could see a question in her eyes. She was momentarily confused. It wasn't easy to maintain his resolve but he leaned towards her and tenderly cupping her face in his hands, kissed her forehead.

"Let's just stay like this." He said gently.

She gazed at him for a moment a little lost until she understood his meaning. She said nothing but sitting up she rested her head against his shoulder and leaned in to him. He put his arms around her and they sat together watching the sun sinking in the west.

Much later, lying in bed in his quarters staring up at the ceiling in the darkness when the heat of passion had left him and he could think rationally about the meeting with Molly, he was sure he had done the right thing. He knew some men who would have called him a fool for not taking what had been available to him. Perhaps when he had been younger or if times had been different he would have agreed with them but Molly was too important to him now and he had to put her first. Until he could offer her a proper life and future with him he knew he would have to keep his desires firmly under control.

Returning to the Station on her bicycle in the darkness Molly was perplexed and confused by her own emotions. She knew that she loved Charles but she had never expected to feel such a strong desire and had been shocked by her own physical response to him. When he had broken away from her she had felt a sense of disappointment even a little hurt but a small part of her had realised they were doing the right thing. She remembered the cautionary tale of her predecessor, Annie, and realised there were risks she simply shouldn't take. It seemed as if Charles had thought this too and beneath her confusion she knew she was grateful for his good sense. When they had finally said goodnight before leaving he had held her close and kissed her as tenderly as ever but she sensed he was displaying more restraint than he had before.

Two days later the crew of 'Charlie' was on ops again. It was another long flight; a return trip to Milan. They tried to avoid as many of the flak centres as possible and although the risk from night fighters was ever present it was a good trip for the Squadron with everyone making it back. She had stood at the dispersal point and waved to Charles and seen him return the wave but she still suffered in silence until 'Charlie' had returned. Climbing down from the aeroplane, Molly could see that Charles was very weary but he searched for her and gave her his customary smile of return before being trucked back to the debriefing hall and she was able to return to her work happy and relieved again.

Later the following morning Molly met Charles on his way across the aerodrome to inspect 'Charlie'.

He still looked weary.

"A long trip?" She asked.

He nodded, "Milan. Long and cold but thankfully boring!"

There was no one around and he reached out for her hand which was still oily from her work but he didn't care. He traced the back of her hand with his thumb as he said,

"Will you come to The White Horse tonight?"

She nodded, "I'll try. Depends on the state of the repairs, but I'll probably manage to get away. Will you all be there?"

She knew the answer would be 'yes'. The crew stuck together it was their way. He nodded and she could see again how tired he looked.

"I'll be there. Don't worry."

He let her hand fall and they parted and went their separate ways.

The White Horse was very busy when Molly and Jackie arrived. The weather was still very good and people were drinking outside to avoid the crush. Molly and Jackie went inside to get a drink and Jackie managed to jump the queue as usual, to the annoyance of some people but she was thick skinned and unconcerned by a few comments thrown in her direction by disgruntled customers.

Charles had been planning to go to The White Horse with the rest of his crew as was their normal habit. Often they walked. A few times against his better judgment, he had even been persuaded to carry all of them in Rosa, balanced precariously across the back and the bonnet of the car, clinging on for dear life and praying they wouldn't be stopped by a Police officer. However, he had been surprised by a note that had arrived at the Mess for him. Mick Foxton, his former Wireless Operator was passing through Grantley and had phoned through to the Mess to ask if his old Skipper might be free to meet him at The White Horse later. He hadn't seen Mick since the end of his second tour when he had moved on to instructing at an OTU and it would be good to catch up. Mick didn't have long, so Charles wen to The White Horse early before the rest of the crew.

When he arrived Charles could see it was very busy. He looked around the room for the tall blond-haired figure of Mick. As he did so, he caught sight of Molly and Jackie standing a few yards from the bar. Charles caught Molly's eye and she pulled a funny face. He winked at her and smiled. At that moment a loud voice shouted,

"Skipper! Over here!"

Charles saw Mick standing at the bar; he had never been one to stray far from a drink. Molly had heard the shout too and was curious to see Charles moving towards the man as she didn't know who he was. Charles would have liked to have said something to her but at that moment Jackie turned to Molly and her attention was diverted.

Whilst Jackie passed on some gossip about a WAAF Telegraphist that had come her way earlier that day, Molly listened with only half a mind on what she was saying. She was curious about the man that Charles had come to meet. She had seen him when they arrived. He seemed to know people in the pub and had been greeted by the Landlord. She heard him shout loudly,

"What are you drinking, Skip?"

Charles asked for a beer. The man ordered for him and then looking back again, called in a clear voice that carried across the bar,

"How's your wife, Skip?"

Molly felt her heart stop. A coldness crept through her and she was rooted to the spot. Jackie must have seen a look cross her face.

"Are you alright, Molly?"

She had to leave. She had to get as far away from the pub as she possibly could right now.

"I've got a headache, Jackie. I'm going back now."

Jackie was startled but Molly left her no time to say anything. She turned and pushed her way past the other people in the bar and went outside resolving to walk away as fast as her legs would carry her.

Charles heard Ted Foxton ask him how his wife was and in an instant he realised who else had heard. He glanced across the bar and saw Molly white-faced and staring into space. He knew she had heard. Almost at the same moment she moved suddenly in the direction of the door, pushing past other people, some of whom called out to her in their annoyance at being jostled. He knew he had to get after her. Ignoring the call from Ted,

"Where are you going, Skip? Here's your beer."

He pushed through the people near the door as well, causing more annoyed comments. Molly was already thirty yards ahead of him about to turn the corner in the road. There were other people outside, people who knew him. He couldn't risk shouting out and drawing attention to himself. He walked at a normal pace until he had rounded the corner and then broke into a run to catch up the last few yards with her. He caught her by the arm.

"Molly!"

She turned to him her eyes blazing with fury.

"You're married and you didn't think to tell me?"

He exhaled, looked skywards and to her annoyance seemed to be smiling at her.

"Do you think this is funny?" She asked incredulously

"No!" He responded immediately the humour gone from his face.

"What else haven't you told me?" She said as her mind ran on and she started to walk away from him.

"Nothing!" He called. "I haven't told you any lies. Molly, stop and listen to me!"

At that moment a truck came up the road towards them from the direction of the base. Charles and Molly waited for it to pass but it slowed at the corner and turned into the pub. In the back they could see Berry, Nuttall and Mansfield hanging over the tailgate and calling out to him. Just to compound matters Ted Foxton rounded the corner carrying a pint in his hand and looking perplexed.

"Where are you going, Skipper? You don't want to waste a beer!" He handed the glass to Charles who thought it incumbent upon him to make some plausible excuse for leaving suddenly and smiling turned away to speak to him. When he looked back towards Molly, desperate to say something, it was already too late. She had turned around and was heading back to the base. He couldn't run after her or call her. There was nothing to be done but go back into the pub with Ted and his crew.

A million thoughts were running through Molly's mind as she walked almost blindly along the road. How could she have been so stupid? Everyone had heard the tales of WAAF's going out with men who had lied about being single. It was so easy when they were posted away from home for months or even years at a time, to just forget about a wife at home and have a girlfriend. She couldn't believe that she had never even thought about this. She had never heard anyone say that Charles was married but then she had never asked. Whoever the man at the bar had been, he clearly knew Charles and he knew he had a wife. She was hurt and angry in equal measures. She couldn't believe that something so precious to her had been turned to ashes by a few words uttered in a crowded pub. Her only consolation was that no one else would know about her pain. As she walked alone in the fading light tears began to roll down her face and she walked in a blur too miserable to bother wiping them away. She didn't see Smithy, who had been held up in the Sergeant's Mess, hastily making his way down the road to join the rest of the crew at the pub.

"Watch out!"

Molly ran slap bang into him. She raised her head to see him looking at her with concern written all over his face.

"What's the matter?" He asked.

"I'm not feeling very well. I've got a headache." Molly said lamely.

Smithy looking at her more closely remarked, "You do look a bit peaky as my Mam would say! Come and sit down over here." He indicated a low stone wall. She sat down with him too disconsolate to do otherwise.

"Perhaps you ought to see the M.O. when you get back." Smithy said.

Molly shook her head, "It's nothing like that. I'm just tired and sometimes I think too much and upset myself." A few tears started to roll down her cheeks and Smithy saw them.

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him. Whilst she might once have brushed him off and offered some resistance, in her misery she allowed him to comfort her.

After a little while, Molly said, "You're a good friend, Smithy. I'm sorry I've been a bit distant recently."

He smiled at her, "It's alright. I said a bit too much, didn't I? That's my problem, always has been."

There was a silence and then he said slowly,

"You know when I told you about the letter my Mam sent me?"

Molly nodded.

"Well, she sent me something else in the letter." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small gold and emerald ring. Molly looked at it unsure what he was about to say.

"It was my Grandma's ring. She said I ought to have it in case I had a sweetheart I wanted to give it to."

Molly opened her mouth to protest, but Smithy silenced her. "I know it's nothing like that, Molly, but you're a special girl to me and I wanted to tell you that and ask you to look after this ring for me for now. Maybe one day…well, who knows? I'm not asking anything from you. I just wanted you to have this, in case…."

Molly could see how much it had taken for him to say this to her. He had been so careful not to ask anything from her. He wasn't trying to elicit a promise. Her heart had been weakened by events this evening and she felt he didn't deserve another brush off.

"I'll look after it for you, Smithy, for now. But one day you might need it back." She smiled at him.

"That's fine by me, Molly. You take care of it." He passed her the ring and taking it from him she put it in her pocket.

They sat together for a while longer. Molly was glad that she and Smithy had come to an understanding. He had been the friend she needed at the right moment and although she knew she would struggle with her feelings for Charles, she was resolved to try to put it behind her.

Smithy was happy. He was sitting with his arm around the girl he loved. He had given her his Grandma's ring and she had promised to keep it. Everything was finally turning out the way he had dreamed that it would.


	12. Chapter 12

Charles was at breakfast in the Mess when the order was given out that all aircrew were confined to the station that day. They would be on operations tonight. In common with most of the other operational officers in the room he made no remark upon hearing the news although he noticed that the hand of a new, very young Pilot officer, Phillips, who was sitting opposite him, began to shake as he replaced his tea cup in its saucer making the teaspoon rattle noticeably in the quiet of the Mess. Charles reached out and steadied the saucer and Phillips gave him a nervous smile of gratitude. He had flown only two operations and made it back by the skin of his teeth after Milan despite it being a relatively straightforward run as far as many of the more experienced crews were concerned.

"Sorry!" Phillips said quietly and took a few deep breaths.

"You'll be fine." Charles spoke in an undertone with as much reassurance as he could muster, "Just remember your training. You've learned more than you realise already."

Phillips nodded at him and tried to put a brave face on matters but Charles felt desperately sorry for him. He'd be surprised if the lad was more than twenty years old and he was carrying the responsibility for six other men on his shoulders. However much they worked as a team, even if the navigator or bomb aimer was of a higher rank than the pilot, ultimately the pilot was captain and made the final decision.

Leaving the Mess, Charles ran into Smithy and Kinders.

"You've heard, I suppose?" He asked.

Kinders nodded, "Yes. I had an arrangement with Eileen for tonight, more's the pity. I don't suppose the C.O. would excuse me this once?" He shrugged.

"It would be nice if he'd excuse us all, but I can't see that happening." Charles replied with a resigned smile.

The news had changed Charles' plans too. He had resolved on finding Molly this morning and clearing the air with her. There were things he needed to explain and everything had conspired against them last night. He could only hope that there would be a chance to speak to her this morning. It was playing on his mind and he couldn't go on an operation tonight without seeing her.

"I'd like to take 'Charlie' up and test number three engine this morning, chaps. Barker says the maintenance crew have got it fixed."

"I'll pass the word to the others." Kinders offered and wandered off to find the rest of the crew.

Smithy remained behind. There was a pensive look on his face. Charles remembered Molly mentioning the letter his mother had sent him and said,

"Penny for them, Smithy!"

"Nothing really, Skip. I was just thinking how quickly everything can change when you're not expecting it."

Molly had slept fitfully. No matter how much she had tried to forget what had happened at The White Horse last night, the memory invaded her every attempt to rest. The meeting with Smithy had just been an interlude between the shock and hurt she had felt on hearing such unwelcome news about Charles and the misery she was experiencing now. In her heart she knew she should have stayed and listened to what Charles had to say but she had been beside herself at the time, desperate to get away from everyone. The thought of him being married made everything that had passed between them feel shallow and sordid. She knew that some girls professed not care about these matters anymore but she was not one of them and she knew her own family wouldn't respect a man who could mislead their daughter like this.

All night she had tossed and turned, sometimes giving way to tears and her restlessness had eventually woken Jackie who was in the next bed to her. Jackie had whispered wearily in the darkness.

"What the matter, Molly. Are you ill?"

"No, Jackie. I can't sleep. I've got things on my mind." She whispered back.

Jackie sighed. It was three o'clock in the morning and she would have to get up at six.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She offered.

Molly wanted to tell someone desperately, but she couldn't bear anyone, even Jackie, knowing what a fool she had been.

"Not really. I just seem to keep making trouble for myself!"

Jackie yawned, "My Mum's always telling my Dad '_never trouble trouble until trouble troubles you_'!"

Molly had heard this before somewhere.

"That's my problem isn't it? I just can't stop myself getting involved."

The next morning out at Dispersal she knew that she looked, in the words of Smithy's Mam, 'peaky'. Even Corporal Barker noticed her pale face and the dark rings around her eyes and asked her if she was well. She assured him that she was fit for work and busied herself about the tasks she had been given.

Later on she saw the crew truck approaching 'Charlie' and knew that they had arrived for a short test flight to ensure number three engine was fit for tonight's raid. She saw Charles appear from the back of the truck and immediately start searching for her. Avoiding his gaze she turned and walked away into the workshop. She didn't come out again until she heard the ignition whine and the engines catch. 'Charlie' pushed away from the hard standing and taxied to the runway waiting for the permission signal to take-off. She couldn't help looking. She could see Charles in outline high up in the perspex cockpit. He didn't turn towards her or wave and she was relieved that she hadn't had to make the choice of whether to respond. By the time 'Charlie' returned, Molly had offered to go to the stores across the aerodrome and ran no risk of running into him.

The C.O. pulled back the cloth covering the blackboard in the Briefing Hall that afternoon and announced to the assembled crews,

"Gentlemen, your target tonight is Krefeld."

There was a collective groan. Having so recently returned from Essen another trip to 'Happy Valley' was not relished. Charles glanced along the bench at his crew. Berry was puffing on a cigarette as if his life depended upon it, Mansfield's foot had started tapping, Fingerson looked stunned, Nuttall was picking at an invisible thread from his jacket, Kinders caught his eye and made a rude gesture and Smithy was staring fixedly ahead apparently resigned to their fate. Charles took a deep breath and tried to focus on the information being given but his heart had sunk at the news. In his mind the odds were getting steeper.

Their target was the marshalling yards in Krefeld. Previous raids had caused damage which the Germans been repaired within a few weeks. The Senior Intelligence Officer stressed the importance of accurate bombing and avoiding 'creep back' with bombs being dropped progressively short of the target into the first fires they encountered. A Pathfinder squadron would be marking the target before the main streams arrived. Once again the Squadron would be attacking in the low stream at fifteen thousand feet. More groans and complaints accompanied this information.

"Can't they give the job to some other lucky bastards?" Someone called out.

The briefing officer ignored this and continued to give details of the route, the timings of the attack, stressing the importance of being on time over target given the number of bombers taking part in the raid. He advised that reconnaissance reports suggested that there were more anti-aircraft batteries in the area which drew more cynical mutterings from amongst the crews. The wireless frequencies were given out and the bomb payload explained. Finally the Meteorological Officer explained that although there was some cloud cover over the target at present they expected it to clear by the time of the attack.

The C.O. came to the front of the platform and regarded them all. He had lost count now of the number of times he had done this. He looked around the room seeing the mixture of young and untested crews and those scarcely older but now considered veterans, prematurely aged by their experiences and knew that it was highly likely that some of them would not return. He had a fifteen year old son and seeing lads scarcely out of school being pitched into the hellish nightmare of bombing, reminded him all too vividly of how he would feel if it was Michael sitting there looking up at him.

"Gentlemen, this operation can make a significant difference. Accurate bombing can put those marshalling yards out of business for good. Focus on hitting the target, hitting it accurately and hitting it hard. Good luck!"

He nodded at them and they stood to attention as he and the other briefing officers left the room. As the crews filed out of the briefing hall the M.O. was at the door as usual handing out the 'wakey wakey' pills to anyone who might struggle to stay awake until the early hours, although falling asleep was seldom a problem for anyone under a flak barrage.

The crew ate their customary meal of bacon and eggs in the Mess and ninety minutes before take-off went to the Crew Room to dress. Charles heard the usual banter flying around but found it hard to join in although he made an effort to laugh at every weak joke that Nuttall made even if his laugh felt hollow. He took only a few boiled sweets with him tucked into his jacket pocket. The crews were offered flasks of hot drinks and small bars of chocolate to take with them but apart from the Wireless Operator and Navigator who happened to sit by the hot air ducts that were supposed to heat the plane, the rest of the crew usually froze at high altitude and their snacks were rendered useless. Sweets were more reliable. As they left the Crew Room they were issued with their escape kits should they be shot down or have to bale out over enemy territory and finally they were required to empty their pockets of anything that might identify their unit or location. As they placed their personal belongings into the two different coloured bags; one to be sent to the next of kin in the event of them not returning and the other containing anything embarrassing most definitely not to be sent to them, Charles realised what a tangled web some people's lives became.

It was still light when the crews arrived at Dispersal. Climbing down from the truck Charles looked again for Molly. He saw her near the workshop. She was looking in his direction but not smiling. He and Smithy immediately started their final pre-flight checks with Barker and the ground crew. Charles was going through the motions, listening to what was being said, giving the right responses but his mind was somewhere else. They were shaking hands with the ground crew and preparing to board when a car approached. It was stopping at each Lancaster in turn. They waited for it to stop by them. One of the Officers from Ops got out and called to Charles.

"We've had word from Group. There's still cloud cover over target. All crews to stand by until advised." Charles nodded in acknowledgment. They all hated these hold ups. Once they had reached Dispersal they were primed and ready to go. He knew there was a real possibility that the whole operation could be scrubbed and that would be worse still although today he would welcome the opportunity it would give him to speak to Molly.

The rest of the crew, at a loose end, wandered around chatting or settled themselves down to wait. Charles glanced over again to where Molly had been by the workshop but she had disappeared. He had to speak to her and now was his moment. He knew there was a rear door to the workshop and making an excuse about the call of nature, wandered off towards the back of the building. Turning the corner out of sight, he saw the door. It was standing half-open. He looked in and to his relief he saw Molly, in there about ten feet away. He called.

"Molly!"

She had heard but studiously ignored him. He could see that she was about to turn and leave and he couldn't take the chance of letting her go. He stepped into the room walking the five paces necessary to cover the distance between them and taking her utterly by surprise seized her by the arm and pulled her out through the open door to the rear of the building.

"What do you want?" She asked angrily, unwilling to meet his gaze.

"To finish the conversation we started yesterday!" He looked at her earnestly. Despite the aging battle weariness that had crept upon him and so many others of his generation, at this moment he looked the young and anxious young man that he really was.

"I'm _not_ married, Molly. I've _never_ been married." Startled by his words, she looked up at him and began to feel a weight lifting from her shoulders although a small doubt remained.

"But that man asked you how your wife was?"

He shook his head and exhaled. "That was Mick Foxton, Ted's son. I haven't seen him since the end of our second tour last year. He's an instructor in Scotland now. The last time I saw him I _was_ about to get married." He let his words sink in.

"You were engaged?" Molly said simply.

"Yes. Rebecca and I were due to get married just after the end of my second tour. She had it all arranged. I was going to be an instructor, the church was booked and then the week before she shot me down."

"She called the wedding off?" Molly said.

"Yes." He shrugged. "While I was away on Ops she found herself a Wing Commander and thought he'd be a safer bet than me. Mick didn't know anything about it, why would he? That's why he said what he did yesterday." He shook his head, "I'm sorry, I should have told you."

She believed him implicitly

"I'm sorry." She whispered. She was chastened realising how she had almost ruined everything between them.

"You weren't to know. I don't blame you for thinking that." He said more reasonably than she felt she deserved.

He moved towards her, "Am I forgiven?"

She nodded, "There's nothing to forgive."

He was wrestling with his conscience. He had made promises to himself that he wouldn't try to look into the future beyond this tour. The risks were great. The nearer he came to the end to of the tour the more heightened was his sense that they were cheating the odds but in this moment his emotions won out and looking at Molly he said,

"This misunderstanding and thinking I might have lost you has made me realise what's important and what I really want." He paused and reaching out to touch her face he looked into her eyes with an intensity she had never seen before. "I want you to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night."

He saw a tear slowly roll down her face and he gently wiped it away. Her voice trembled a little when she replied,

"It's the same for me."

He leaned towards her and kissed her tenderly.

Smithy had seen the Skipper wander away behind the workshop and assumed he had gone off to answer the call of nature. Although Nuttall and Mansfield liked to relieve themselves on the tail wheel for luck it wasn't the Skipper's normal habit. He had seen Molly over in the direction of the workshop as well but thought she must have gone inside the building. He had been so happy since last night. He knew that he could be impetuous, turning up at Molly's home without any warning and just blurting out the fact that he loved her without any preamble. His hot-headed nature had got him into a few scrapes over the years. His Mam said he'd added plenty of grey hairs to her head before time. Geraint had been different. He had been the calm, easy-going, sociable type that everyone liked. He had looked up to Geraint and wanted to be like him and Geraint had always said that his Skipper was the best. Smithy was lucky to be on his crew and there were plenty of other aircrew who envied him.

Krefeld was going to be a tough operation. They all knew it and having a delay, even a short one, was playing havoc with his nerves. He decided to go and find Molly. He liked the way that she could reassure him and make even the simplest cliché believable.

Smithy wandered over to the workshop and peered in. It was empty but there was a door at the rear that was slightly ajar and he could hear indistinct voices coming from that direction. Thinking that Molly might be there he walked slowly across the room. As he reached the door he recognised two voices; Molly and the Skipper. He was about to open the door and join them when he heard the Skipper say,

"I want you to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night."

There was pause before he heard Molly say,

"It's the same for me."

He peered through the crack in the door and was shocked. The Skipper was touching Molly's face, kissing her, their eyes closed as both of them were lost in the moment. He felt an icy hand grasp his heart. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He moved away from the door and almost blindly walked across the workshop back to the main entrance. As he looked across to the Dispersal area and saw the rest of the crew sitting around, making jokes, trying to keep each other's spirits up he felt as if everything he had believed in had been obliterated by the two people he most trusted.

Only yesterday, Molly had promised to keep his Grandma's ring safe for him and he had dared to hope that it meant there might be a future for them. But now he knew; she didn't love him. She loved his Skipper, the man he looked up to and trusted with his life. All this time, his Skipper had been secretly pursuing the girl he loved. He felt close to tears; tears of disappointment, bitterness and betrayal.

Berry shouted across to Smithy and without taking in the meaning of his words he automatically raised his hand in acknowledgment but he was fighting to keep his feelings under control. His misery was slowly turning to anger directed at the two people who had destroyed his hopes. Berry called again and Smithy caught his words this time.

"The Op's on. Where's the Skipper?"

At that moment Charles appeared from behind the workshop. He saw Smithy and looked questioningly at him.

"What's the news, Smithy?"

Smithy, avoiding his gaze, replied in a monotone voice,

"Op's on, Skip!"

Charles nodded and made his way towards 'Charlie'.

Molly came out of the workshop and stood next to Smithy. She smiled at him and the sight of her lovely face cut him to the quick.

"You're off, then!" She remarked.

He merely nodded and then walked away from her without another word. She watched him go, surprised he hadn't spoken but conscious that this was the most tense moment for all of them. Her feelings didn't matter but the nausea had started again and she took a deep breath to compose herself before walking out towards 'Charlie'.

Charles and Smithy walked around 'Charlie' repeating the pre-flight check they had already done half an hour ago. No matter how many times they were delayed, the Skipper always went through the same ritual immediately before take-off. A final word with Corporal Barker and then he signalled to the rest of the crew to board. They climbed the ladder to the hatch and started to make their way to their respective positions inside the fuselage.

Charles turned and took one last look around him, seeking out and finding Molly a short distance away. Their eyes locked for a few seconds and he gave the merest hint of a nod in her direction. There was nothing more to be said or done. Beside him Smithy saw him looking at Molly, knew exactly what it meant and could taste the bitterness in his mouth.

They climbed up the ladder into the Lancaster. Mansfield had already turned left and made his way down the narrow fuselage to the rear gun turret. He hung his parachute on the hook to his left and climbed, with difficulty into the perspex turret, pulling the metal roller draught proof doors shut behind him and enclosing himself in the claustrophobic sphere that would be his world for the next seven hours. He sat waiting for the engines to start so that he could rotate the turret left and right to check its movement. He knew that he would spend this trip the same way as all the others, gradually succumbing to the icy coldness all the while scanning the skies, his eyes on stalks looking for night fighters.

Nuttall moved up to mid upper gun turret just beyond the side crew door. He had a three hundred and sixty degree view over the top of the aircraft and two Browning .303 machine guns each with a thousand rounds. He would sit perched on a canvas rectangle slung beneath the turret for the whole flight, scanning the skies, ready to spot enemy aircraft and call evasion tactics to the Skipper.

Berry climbed down to the bomb aimer position in the perspex nose where his bombsight controls were located in the floor. When they reached the target he would lie prone on the floor to operate the control and release the bombs over the target. But he would spend most of the journey standing in the second position manning the two .303 guns of the nose turret providing extra firepower.

Kinders moved up to sit at the Navigator's chart table just below and behind the Skipper. There was a curtain between him and the cockpit to enable him to use a light over the table as they flew through the darkness and he settled down facing the port side of the aircraft looking at the instrument panel in front of him showing the altitude, air speed and other information he needed to plot the course of the aeroplane.

On the other side of the Navigators chart table, Fingerson sat at the Wireless Operator's table with his Marconi transmitter receiver mounted in front of him. To his left was a small window and above him an astrodome that he used for signalling and shared the use of with Kinders when he needed to carry out celestial navigation.

Charles climbed up to the front of aircraft and into the left hand seat in the cockpit. He knew that the only thing between him and any attack was three eighths of an inch of perspex. It was a vulnerable position. Below him and the others at the front of the aeroplane lay the thirty three foot long bomb bay with its payload of incendiaries and high explosives. As he climbed into the pilot seat he was joined by Smithy sitting on the fold down dickey seat. Behind him to his right was the control panel containing the fuel selectors and gauges.

Fingerson plugged in the intercom.

"Intercom OK, Skip."

Charles took a deep breath.

"Captain to crew. You all know your jobs. We all work together and we keep our minds on the Op from now until we get back. Stay focused. Stay alert. Stay alive!"

He turned his head to Smithy who normally gave him a thumbs up as they were about to start the ignition, but his head was turned in the opposite direction looking out the cockpit.

"Ignition on!" Charles called.

The ignition whined, the propellers started to turn and one by one the engines caught and began to roar into life. They taxied away from the hard standing careful not to stray from the tarmac strip that led to the runway. The air was throbbing now with the sound of a hundred Rolls Royce Merlin engines ready for take-off. As they reached their allotted slot at the end of the runway, Charles sitting higher than Smithy, turned his head to the right. He could see Molly in her usual spot near Dispersal and already her hand was raised in farewell. Charles raised his hand in response and she saw it. She waved across at the aeroplane and Smithy saw it too and felt resentment begin to well up in him.

The Aldis lamp in the controller's van flashed green and they began to accelerate along the runway. As their speed increased the tail wheel lifted into the air and then slowly, gradually, 'Charlie' lumbered upwards from the ground and began to climb.

They assembled in formation at fifteen thousand feet over the coast of Suffolk. Once out over the North Sea, Nuttall, Mansfield and Berry fired off a few test rounds of their guns and then they settled in formation following the tail navigation lights of the bombers in front of them as the light slowly faded.

For once the intelligence given at the briefing proved right and they crossed the enemy coast without encountering any flak. They changed course at the points directed hoping to keep the anti-aircraft defences confused about the target of the operation. Kinders had announced that they were about twenty minutes from target when suddenly one of the bombers flying about a thousand feet ahead of them exploded without warning. Carrying a full bomb load it became a massive fireball lighting up the sky before falling like a stone to earth.

"Bloody Hell!" Berry exclaimed.

They were all stunned.

"Who was it?" Fingerson asked.

"F for Freddy," Nuttall shouted.

Charles knew it was Phillips, the young Pilot Officer he'd spoken to this morning. Just for a moment he felt anger at the senselessness of it all. He had just been a nervous young lad trying to do his job and seven lives had been wiped out in an instant without warning.

"How did that happen?" Berry said in disbelief.

Charles said nothing but he had heard that some ME110's had a new tactic for shooting down bombers. It was rumoured they were attacking from the Lancaster's blind spot below and using canon fired up into the belly of the aeroplane to blow them up with a full bomb load. They couldn't be seen or heard and there was nothing they could do to defend themselves. He kept his fears to himself but said,

"Captain to crew. Keep your eyes peeled for night fighters."

He glanced across at Smithy. He was staring fixedly ahead a set expression on his face. Even the explosion of F for Freddy seemed to have left him unmoved.

"You OK, Smithy?" He shouted above the roar of the engines.

Smithy turned his head to the left and gave Charles a long look. There was something strange about that look and Charles recognised it.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He shouted back at him. Charles didn't like the tone of the reply but he couldn't deal with this now. He pretended he hadn't noticed.

Smithy had gone through the motions since boarding 'Charlie'. His mind was still back at the aerodrome. All he could see when he stared into the blackness was Molly and the Skipper kissing. Every time the Skipper spoke he felt the seething resentment surface again. He didn't want to be anywhere near him and fate had put him in the worst possible place.

They were thirty miles from the target and the flames from the first wave of bombers were clearly visible. The Pathfinder squadron had marked the target with green and red indicators and it was surrounded by beamed arcs of probing searchlights. They could see bursts of flak around the lights. Kinders called, "Five minutes to target, Skipper."

Berry moved down into the bomb aimer's position lying on his stomach looking over the bombsight and Charles started the bombing approach. He weaved left and right until he was at fifteen thousand feet flying straight and level eyes on the target markers ahead. Berry started the stopwatch and watched for the target. They all knew that aiming for the target and getting the timing right was essential. If they dropped their bombs too early or too late they could miss their target by miles.

The flak was thick and heavy. The aeroplane was shaking and rolling with bursts all around them as Charles fought to keep it straight and level. Berry called instructions.

"Right, right, Skipper"

Charles made small adjustments to their position all the time guided by him,

"Left, left, Skipper. Thirty seconds to target."

There were bursts all around them, each one causing the fuselage to shudder and creak. For some reason, Charles concentrating hard on the target ahead couldn't help himself and he began to sing under his breath unaware that this intercom was still switched on,.

"_Why do Robins sing in December…Long before the springtime is due? And even though its' snowing violets are growing. I know why and so do you."_

Smithy heard the song. He recognised it from the station dance. It was the song that had been playing when Molly and the Skipper had danced. He knew what it meant and the anger and resentment in him finally burst to the surface.

"Do you have to sing?" The sound of Smithy shouting at him shook Charles from his concentration. Even in this precarious situation he noted the omission of 'Skip' and realised something was very wrong. A sidelong glance at Smithy confirmed his fears. He was staring at Charles with an expression of intense fury.

"I don't know what your problem is Smithy but now is not the time." Charles shouted loudly at him his eyes staring ahead of him through the constant flashes and smoke.

"You!" Smithy yelled at him, "You're the problem. You and Molly." Charles heard him and was shocked, too shocked to respond as he struggled to keep the aeroplane straight and level.

Berry's voice came over the intercom.

"Bomb doors open." The aeroplane continued rocking and rolling as flak burst all around them. They heard the ping and rattle of hot metal bouncing against the aluminium shell of the aeroplane.

Charles, recovering himself a fraction, shouted at Smithy in as authoritative tone as he could muster,

"You do not discuss personal matters now. We work together and we do our jobs. Is that understood?"

"Bombs Gone." Berry called and the plane jerked upwards. Charles knew Berry would be looking into the bomb bay checking to see that bombs had all descended before he closed the bomb bay doors.

"Well, you were flying solo with Molly, weren't you?" Smithy yelled back at him, "I saw you together."

Charles realised that things were rapidly getting out of control and he was fighting to maintain his authority.

"I won't tell you again, Sergeant Smith. Now get back and check for any damage." He shouted at Smithy turning his head for a fraction towards him but his mind was in turmoil. Smithy glared at him before starting to move back down towards Kinders and Fingerson.

Suddenly night became day as 'Charlie' was caught in the blinding white light of a cone of searchlights. Charles automatically pushed the nose of 'Charlie' down, opened the throttles wide and let the Lancaster go like hell knowing the faster they moved the harder they would be to hit, all the while praying that they would clear the searchlights as fast as they could. Every second they were held in the lights he felt like a mouse being taunted by a cat. 'Charlie' was in a steep dive and the engines were screaming, the fuselage shaking with the force but they were still being held firmly in the lights.

Kinders called anxiously over the intercom, "Air speed is over three hundred and fifty miles per hour."

They had almost reached the edge of the arc of the lights and the relative safety of darkness was only seconds away when they heard the heavy thump, thump of exploding flak shells, there were bright yellow flashes and the smell of cordite filled the aeroplane. They had been hit by anti-aircraft fire.

Fingerson yelled over the intercom,

"Skip, the starboard inner engine's on fire!"

Charles looked to his right and saw red flames streaming from the engine and threatening to spread over the wing. He yelled over the intercom,

"Smithy, kill the engine!"

There was no response,

"Smithy!" He yelled again whilst struggling to pull 'Charlie' out of the dive and level off.

"He's been hit, Skip." Nuttall called.

"Archie, get up here. John check on Smithy." Kinders immediately struggled up towards his Skipper as Charles throttled the inner starboard engine back and feathered the propeller. This was Smithy's job and Charles was struggling to do both. As Kinders reached him he yelled,

"Hit the fire extinguisher!" Kinders found the red extinguisher button for the engine and pressed it and they watched anxiously as the fire gradually went out.

They were in darkness now but had lost a lot of height and become separated from the rest of the bombing group.

"John, how's Smithy?"

There was a pause before Nuttall said,

"He's been hit in the arm and he's losing a lot of blood. I've put a tourniquet on it but it might be an artery. It looks bad."

Charles took a deep breath.

"Damage reports, everyone?"

Mansfield reported extensive damage to the fuselage in the form of rips and tears in the aluminium skin. Berry said there was some oil leaking from the front gun turret but it didn't look too serious. However, in spite of everything 'Charlie' was still handling alright. Kinders went back to his post and started plotting a course for home and Fingerson sent the signal back to the Milton, 'Mission completed'. Charles headed north waiting for a full course correction and glanced at the altitude meter**.** They were flying at seven thousand feet. He knew that he needed to maintain his height and speed and concentrated on doing that.

"Skip, Smithy's not looking too clever." Nuttall came over the intercom, "He's bleeding heavily. I can't really slow it much. I don't think he's going to make it back to base."

It was the worst news.

Berry came over the intercom,

"He could bale out, Skip, the Jerries will pick him up. He'll have a chance."

In this moment, Charles remembered Geraint, badly injured and dying despite all his efforts to get him back to Milton. Whatever had happened just now between himself and Smithy he was determined to give him every chance of living.

"Is he conscious, John?"

"Yes, Skip. Just about."

He spoke to Smithy directly over the intercom.

"Smithy. Your best chance is if you bale out, now. It's your choice."

A weak voice came over the intercom.

"I'll go. Just tell my Mam."

In the minutes since being hit by the shrapnel Smithy had been drifting in and out of consciousness. He wasn't in much pain but he had heard the others talking over the intercom and knew it looked bad for him. When the suggestion was made to bale out he regarded it dispassionately. It didn't matter what he did, whether he died on the way home or died parachuting out of an aeroplane, the only person who would probably care was his mother. It was this last thought that persuaded him in his weak state to jump. She had lost one son already and he owed it to her to try to survive.

Nuttall helped Smithy struggle into his parachute although he was hampered by the lack of room and his injured arm. He winced as the parachute straps caught on his shoulder and almost blacked out again but he fought to bring himself back to reality. Fingerson checked twice that the harness was securely fastened, and then he and Nuttall opened the rear crew door. They manhandled Smithy towards the exit and placed the rip cord firmly in the hand of his uninjured arm. The wind was rushing past and it was hard to hear what was being said but he was sure he heard Nuttall shout at him,

"Skipper says good luck and 'Sorry'."

Smithy nodded.

Nuttall called over the intercom that Smithy was ready and together they edged him forward. There was a final 'thumbs up' from Fingerson and then they pushed him out into the blackness below, praying that he would pull the rip cord before he blacked out.

After the noise of the aircraft there was nothing but silence, just the gentle sound of air rushing past him and for a moment Smithy felt oddly at peace until he realised he wasn't in heaven yet and he must act. Thankfully, he was still firmly holding the rip cord. With his last ounce of strength he pulled it and with a sudden jerk he rose upwards as the canopy opened and he began the gentle descent to earth although he was unaware of this just as he was unaware of the hard impact of the ground several minutes later because he had fallen into unconsciousness.

It was with a huge sense of relief that Charles heard Nuttall report that he had seen Smithy's parachute open. He tried not to think of anything else other than getting 'Charlie' back to Milton although at the back of his mind questions were already forming. Kinders had given him a course correction and they were heading west towards Holland and Belgium. They were flying alone at a much lower altitude than was ideal and on three engines which was slowing them. They were also vulnerable to attack and they all knew it.

The shout of warning from Mansfield in the rear gun turret and the sound of bullets ripping through the fuselage happened simultaneously. The ME110 couldn't believe its luck seeing a lone Lancaster flying a thousand feet below and swooped down upon it giving it a burst from its canons. Charles heard the metal pinging off of the bullet proof plate behind his seat and then to his shock he felt white hot searing pain as bullets ripped into the flesh of his lower leg. He cried out in agony, but held fast to the control column. At the same moment he heard the sound of Nuttall and Mansfield opening up with their .303 machine guns, valiantly trying to hit the fast moving target. They knew that their guns were no match for the ME110 and their only hope of downing the aircraft was to hit a fuel or hydraulics line. Despite the agonising pain in his leg, Charles began the only manoeuvre at his disposal to try to shake off a night fighter; the corkscrew. He had no idea how 'Charlie' would handle on only three engines and with a damaged fuselage but he had no choice. He threw the Lancaster into a steep climb shortly followed by a twisting dive. Mansfield called out,

"Corkscrew to port." and Charles climbed again and then twisted to the left.

The ME110 flashed by twice more with bursts of machine gun fire and there was the sound of bullets pinging around and through the fuselage and then miraculously it was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived.

"Must have been short of ammunition." Mansfield was calling out almost laughing in shock.

Charles pulled the aircraft level and straight. It was beginning to shake worryingly and as he looked to his left he saw the outer port engine had stopped, its propeller turning uselessly. He feathered the propeller and shut the engine down. They were now lower and slower than they had been before. Through gritted teeth, he called,

"Anyone hit. Any damage"

Everyone called in except Berry.

"Archie, check on Maurice and Ray can you get up here a moment."

When Fingerson reached Charles he saw immediately the mess his Skipper was in. There was a gaping wound in his right lower leg, bleeding profusely. He reasoned that there was probably a broken bone too and even by torchlight he could see his Skipper's face was strained and grey with pain.

"You should have morphine, Skip." Fingerson said.

"No way!" Charles shook his head. He knew there was no chance of them getting back to Milton if he was given any morphine, "Patch it up as best you can, Ray."

With his limited supply of dressings, Fingerson did the best he could to strap up the Skipper's leg but he didn't know how it would hold out. Charles grimaced and tried to ignore the searing pain whilst Fingerson was working on him. Then he heard Kinders report over the intercom,

"Maurice is hit."

"How bad?" Charles asked.

"Shoulder and leg. I've patched him up and given morphine. He's out of it right now."

Charles was glad of it for his sake.

"OK, thanks Archie. Can you find out where we are and calculate how long to Milton on two engines?" Kinders returned to the Navigator's position and began to work out their current position and his estimate of their arrival time at Milton taking into account their current altitude and speed and Charles prayed they wouldn't meet with any other night fighters because he felt sure they would be a sitting duck for anyone else who came along.

By the time 'Charlie' limped over the Dutch coast at little more than three thousand feet, Charles was struggling to keep himself awake. He was weakened by blood loss, exhaustion and the strain of keeping the aeroplane level. The damage to the fuselage was affecting his control and he had no idea whether he would be able to land safely or even in if the undercarriage would still descend. Blood had seeped through the dressing that Fingerson had placed on his leg and the pain though less intense had become a constant sickening throb. His limbs felt heavy and his responses were slowing. Kinders gave him the ETA for hitting the Suffolk coast and he prayed he would stay awake long enough to make it. To make matters worse the last night fighter attack had put the wireless out of operation. 'Charlie' was no longer able to communicate with Milton.

Kinders could see that Charles was struggling and sat up alongside him on the dickey seat trying to keep him awake, talking to him about everything and anything he could think of. At least the threat of night fighters and flak had now abated. As they finally crossed the coast of Suffolk, Charles said in a slow weary voice over the intercom.

"Those of you who can, should bale out. We're still high enough." He looked at Kinders who shook his head.

"Maurice can't do that and we've already lost Smithy. I'm staying put, Skip."

One by one they all volunteered to stay. He knew he could have ordered them to go and common sense should have prevailed but he appreciated their faith in him, no matter how ill-placed it seemed.

Charlie was an hour overdue. There had been losses on the raid. The mid-air explosion of F for Freddy was reported by several returning crews and two others had been shot down on the return journey from Krefeld. One Lancaster had been diverted to an airfield in Kent and crash landed there. No one had any news of 'Charlie'. They had been seen entering the bomb run but no one knew what had happened to them after the 'Mission Completed' signal had been sent.

Out at Dispersal Molly was beside herself with worry although no one in the ground and maintenance crews would have noticed. There were worried faces amongst them as well. Molly kept praying that they would hear 'Charlie' had landed somewhere else but it had been an hour since the last Lancaster had returned to Milton and she was beginning to contemplate the possibility as unthinkable as it was, that 'Charlie' might have been lost.

When the distant rumble of an aircraft was heard approaching everyone on the ground turned to scan the sky looking for the Lancaster. As it approached the runway they saw it signalling its call sign by Aldis lamp. Someone shouted,

"It's Charlie."

Molly's spirits soared but then she saw the red flare launched from the aircraft indicating wounded on board and she saw the ambulance and fire wagon making their way to the side of the runway ready to follow the Lancaster in as it landed. It descended unsteadily, they could see that two engines were out of operation and there were gaping holes in the fuselage. The tail was weaving a little from side to side as if it might detach itself. The undercarriage had thankfully descended but as it landed it began to weave around failing to keep a straight line on the runway.

In the pilot's seat, Charles was fighting to keep 'Charlie' straight hampered by the weaving of the tail and the injury to his right leg making it agony to try and control the rudders. 'Charlie' was slowing but he wasn't sure that he could stop before they ran out of runway. In a last ditch attempt to prevent them crashing nose first into the soft earth at the end of the runway he pulled 'Charlie' around to the right causing them to skid sideways across the tarmac before finally coming to rest tipped over on their starboard wing. Charles was aware of the aeroplane coming to a shuddering halt. He knew that ground crews would be rushing to get them out of aircraft as fast as they could. He could smell fuel and oil and knew there was imminent danger of a fire but he had finally succumbed to his injury and had slipped into unconsciousness.


	13. Chapter 13

Molly's heart pounded painfully in her chest, her breath came in sharp, rasping gasps and the muscles in her legs burned and screamed at her to stop as she ran at full pelt across the aerodrome towards the stricken Lancaster tilted over on its starboard wing at the end of the runway. Smoke and flames were starting to spread from the engine and she was terrified that at any moment fuel in the tanks might explode. She could see others ahead of her closer to the aeroplane; crash and ground crews starting to open the crew door and enter the fuselage. She tried to look up towards the cockpit and could see smoke escaping from the front of the aeroplane through cracks in the perspex but there was no sign of Charles. She tried to reason with herself. He must be there. He had flown the Lancaster and landed it in spite of the damage. He must be trying to get out of the aeroplane.

The Fire wagon was at the site now trying to douse the starboard engine and extinguish the flames. Molly could also see two of the crew staggering from the fuselage helped by other people. Then a call went out for a stretcher and it was brought to the crew door. Someone was being carried out, manhandled towards the door before being laid down on the stretcher and covered with a blanket.

She had reached the Lancaster now and tried to push her way forward although other people were yelling at her to stay back. She could smell leaking fuel and memories of the day D for Donald had crashed came flooding back to her. The stretcher was carried past her and she saw Berry lying upon it, bloody dressings on his right shoulder. He was semi-conscious and muttering to himself with a strangely contented smile on his face and Molly knew he had probably been given morphine.

She scanned the faces around the aeroplane and saw Fingerson standing close to the ambulance doors weighed down by his flying gear and seemingly in a world of his own.

"Ray!" She shouted and he caught the sound of her voice. She rushed over to him still breathless from running. "Where is he?"

Fingerson stared at her and she saw anxiety and shock in his eyes. He reached out to her and put his hands on her shoulders looking straight at her.

"I'm sorry, Molly. He was badly hurt. We had to get him to bale out!"

She stared at Fingerson trying to fathom the meaning of his words. It made no sense.

"The Skipper thought it was his best chance." Fingerson continued.

She still couldn't' comprehend his meaning. She shook her head.

"What are you saying?"

"Smithy was badly shot up. We didn't think he'd make it back here. The Skipper asked him if he wanted to bale out and he did!" Fingerson explained.

Molly's legs almost gave way with relief and shock in the same moment. Fingerson thought she was talking about Smithy and she was thinking only of Charles. Smithy hadn't even crossed her mind but now the news of him baling out and being badly hurt filled her with dread.

"Who else was hurt?" She asked.

Fingerson looked dazed.

"Who else?" Her voice was raised and she couldn't hide her emotion. Tears were pricking her eyes.

Fingerson came to his senses.

"The Skipper."

"What's wrong with him?" She cried as the cold hand of fear gripped at her heart.

"His leg. It's pretty bad, Molly."

Without waiting any longer she turned and ran to the aeroplane door despite the hands grabbing at her and trying to pull her back. As she reached it she saw Kinders and Nuttall climbing out helping some ground crew carry Charles. His eyes were shut and he was motionless with his head rolling to one side. His flying helmet had come off and his hair was tousled and unruly like a young lad. She saw the mess of bloodied bandages on his lower leg and realised he must have suffered a lot of blood loss. The men placed him onto a stretcher and he was carried to the waiting ambulance. She followed it with her eyes until the doors slammed shut and it raced away across the aerodrome.

"Where are they taking them?" She called out to Kinders.

"The General Hospital, I expect." He called back and she realised that both Charles and Berry were going to need to more treatment than the base hospital could provide. She also knew that once Charles had been taken off the base she wouldn't be able to see him. At least, she thanked God, he was alive.

Kinders walked over to Molly and could see the stricken look on her face. He was dazed and shocked from the flight, the strain of keeping the Skipper awake for several hours and the fear of what would happen on landing in a damaged Lancaster with a pilot who might not be able to control the aeroplane. However, he had known as soon as the Skipper had told them they should bale out that he would not abandon him. Now looking at Molly he spared a thought for the pain she must be experiencing knowing that Smithy had not returned and none of them knew whether he was alive or dead. He put an arm around her shoulders.

"Don't give up hope!"

The uninjured crew of 'Charlie' were driven over to see the M.O. and then taken to debriefing to establish what had happened on this last flight. Molly was left at the crash site. The fire has been put out and 'Charlie' lay at the end of the runway a blackened, broken wreck. She knew that overnight the ground crews would work to clear the aeroplane from the area, remove anything that was salvageable and that it would end up in the graveyard on the far side of the aerodrome with the other scrapped aircraft until it could be taken away for proper salvage. It had been _her_ aeroplane. She had worked on its engines, cared for it, watched it take-off and land and prayed for the safety of its crew and one person in particular. She felt desolate seeing it lying here in this broken state but even more empty because the man she loved had been taken away too and she had no idea when or even if she would be able to see him again.

There was nothing more that Molly could do now. It was the early hours of the morning. She returned the WAAF quarters and creeping into bed trying not to wake the others who were already asleep, she lay under the covers trying to rest but thinking of everything that must have transpired on this last operation and increasingly of Charles a long way from here in the General Hospital twenty miles away probably needing an operation. She had no idea how badly injured he was and her fears began to grow. There were also thoughts of Smithy. She wondered what might have happened to him. Would he have been found in time to get the help he needed or had it been too late? She barely slept as memories of the crash ran through her mind. She kept seeing it careering to the end of the runway, twisting around and the then the flames, smoke and smell of fuel. Most of all she saw Charles lying on the stretcher unconscious to the world and to her.

The next morning at breakfast in the WAAF Mess Molly saw Jackie looking tired and drawn. Her crew, P-Popsie, had returned safely, although there had been work needed on the engine and fuselage overnight. Molly sat down opposite her and Jackie gave her a weak smile.

"Are you alright, Molly?"

"I suppose so." She tried to return the smile but it felt hollow.

She thought she had heard a catch in Jackie's voice when she spoke. She looked at her more closely and thought Jackie looked as if she had been crying.

"Are _you_ alright, Jackie?"

Jackie didn't speak. She just gave a little shake of her head.

"Something to do with last night?" Molly enquired.

"Yes." Jackie's voice was quiet, "I was just thinking about Smithy and Geraint. It seems so unfair, doesn't it? Two brothers. Their poor mother!"

Molly reached over to her friend and grasped her hand, squeezing it firmly and reassuringly.

"We don't know about Smithy yet. There's still hope."

The work to clear 'Charlie' away was still going on as Molly rode her bicycle across the aerodrome. She was surprised to see Kinders out there watching the ground crews at work. She didn't think he could have gone to bed and was concerned. Despite the fact that she was already late she rode her bicycle over towards him and he looked up as she drew level with him.

"I thought you'd be resting, Archie."

He shook his head.

"Couldn't sleep. I thought I'd come over and see if there was anything I'd left inside that I could get out before they scrap her." She looked down and saw him clutching a slide rule and some pencils that he must have retrieved from the navigator's table.

"Have you got any news on Maurice or Flight Lieutenant James?" Molly asked him carefully.

He nodded.

"I dropped into see the M.O. this morning and he said they were both alright. The skipper's a bit weak and his leg's been knocked about a bit, but he thinks they'll be able to save it."

Relief flooded over Molly again,

"That's good news!" she said quietly and Kinders thinking once again that her thoughts had turned towards Smithy said,

"I know you and Smithy were a bit sweet on each other. It must be hard."

Molly didn't know how to respond. She hadn't realised that everyone thought that she and Smithy were so close.

"Well, let's just hope he's alright." She said after a moment and turned to carry on her way to the workshops. The last thing she wanted was to carry on talking about Smithy.

The bus was travelling interminably slowly stopping at each little crossroads or hamlet on its journey into town. It was six days since 'Charlie' had crashed and Molly had finally managed to get a half-day pass which would give her enough time to make the journey to the hospital twenty miles away. She had been forced to manage until now on snippets of information gleaned from others who had talked to the M.O. or knew Berry. It seemed as if both Charles and Berry were on the mend and would recover although no one seemed to know what the long lasting effect of the injuries might be. Molly felt very alone. She couldn't tell anyone how desperately she wanted to see Charles and having others around her sympathising with her about Smithy was becoming very uncomfortable.

The other members of 'Charlie's' crew had been sent on leave. They knew that when they returned they would be asked to crew up with a new pilot or join other crews as replacements and none of them relished this prospect. She knew that they would want to try to stay together. A new Lancaster had arrived yesterday; a new C for Charlie and her ground crew would now take over looking after this aeroplane. Molly recalled the look of astonishment and disbelief on the faces of the ground and maintenance crew when it taxied to dispersal and the lone ferry pilot had stepped down the ladder onto the concrete; a female Air Transport Auxiliary pilot clutching her flight bag and delivery chit. Corporal Barker had made a fool of himself, climbing into the aircraft to check that there really was no other male pilot on board. The ATA pilot had borne the insult with a detached sense of amusement and Molly had stared in wonder at the small, slight young woman in her smart blue uniform proudly wearing her pilot's wings. She was scarcely older than Molly but taking everything in her stride and Molly remembered her own dream and wished for a moment she could change places and experience that same thrill of being free as a bird.

The bus was finally nearing the centre of town and Molly, who had asked the driver when she boarded the bus at Grantley where to disembark for the hospital, saw him wave towards her and call out,

"Hospital next stop!"

She gratefully made her way to the front of the bus and when it came to a halt got out. Glancing at the time on the clock tower opposite the stop she saw that it was already three o'clock. The bus journey had taken almost an hour and a half and she had no idea of the visiting hours at the hospital but hoped there would be enough time. As she walked up the hill to the hospital the butterflies in her stomach were fluttering wildly and as much as she wanted to see Charles there was a degree of trepidation as well.

It took her some time to locate the ward and she had to stop twice to make enquiries with passing nurses. The local provincial hospital had been extended in the last three years to cope with the increasing numbers of wounded airmen from the multitude of bomber bases in the area. It was now a maze of single storey wards leading from a long central corridor. When she finally found the right ward her nerves were jangling and it was already three fifteen. The notice on the ward door advised her that visiting times were from two o'clock until four o'clock each afternoon. Pushing open the door she looked down the ward hastily checking the beds on each side looking for Charles. On the left hand side near the far end of the ward she finally caught sight of him. He was lying half propped up on pillows with the bedclothes raised over a frame above his legs and there was someone with him.

Molly saw a well-dressed woman wearing a smart, two-piece grey suit with a matching hat. She was older than Charles, possibly in her late forties. She was leaning towards him talking intently and patting his hand occasionally. Molly didn't know what to do. She hadn't considered for a moment that Charles might have another visitor. She was aware that she was staring and was afraid that at any moment either Charles or the woman would catch sight of her. She felt desperately awkward and decided to step back out of the ward. As she turned to go back into the corridor a young blond-haired nurse was coming the other way.

"Can I help you?"

Molly spoke automatically. "I've come to see Flight Lieutenant James." She indicated him. "I can see he's got a visitor."

The nurse nodded, "Yes, she's his mother. Do you want to go in?" Molly was hesitant she didn't know how she would explain herself in front of Charles' mother. She glanced down the ward again looking at the mother and son together and began to fear that she would never match up to the last woman his mother had known in Charles' life; Rebecca.

"I'll wait. I don't want to intrude."

She retreated to the corridor and found a bench on which to sit and wait. Time passed very slowly, people came and went and all the time the clock ticked towards the end of visiting time. Molly began to feel increasingly frustrated and anxious. She had waited a long time to see him and now she was stuck here fearing that time would run out. It was almost four o'clock and she had finally resolved that she must go into the ward and brave the awkwardness when the door opened and Charles' mother walked out. Molly heard the sound of her feet, in expensive-looking high heeled shoes, tapping along the polished floor towards her and glanced up as she passed. She caught Mrs James eye for a second and she thought she saw a fleeting look of curiosity. It was a momentary exchange. Molly watched her retreating along the corridor with an air of confidence in her manner. She noticed her immaculate pre-war cut suit, the neat row of pearls at her neck, the real silk stockings, her hair beautifully styled and the scent of expensive perfume and for the first time realised the gulf that existed between her own family and his.

Molly rose from her seat on the bench and went to the ward door. Just as she was about to push it open she found herself face to face with the Ward Sister who was about to leave.

"Can I help you?" She asked rather sternly.

"I've been waiting to see Flight Lieutenant James." Molly replied simply.

The Sister glanced at the watch pinned to her apron.

"Visiting time is just about the end. I'm sorry you'll have to come back tomorrow."

Molly spoke without thinking. "I can't!"

The Sister raised her eyebrows.

"I only get a half day pass once a week and it's taken me most of my time to get here. I just need to see him for a few minutes. Please, Sister!" She gazed at the woman anxiously, feeling sure that she would be thwarted at the last moment.

The Sister gazed at her with some pity. She was only in her late twenties and her fiancé, a Lieutenant in the Navy, was away on board a destroyer somewhere. She didn't know when she would see him again. She knew how difficult it was to find time to see those you loved and how precious a few moments could be. Despite knowing that the Matron would have her guts for garters if she found out, she relented.

"You can have a few minutes. If he seems tired you must let him rest. His other visitor was here all afternoon."

She stood to one side and let Molly pass.

Molly walked slowly along the ward. Some of the men were reading, some chatting, others were asleep. Some of them looked up and smiled at the sight of the pretty dark-haired WAAF making her way along the ward. As she reached the end of Charles' bed she stopped. His eyes were shut. He looked pale, much younger and somehow vulnerable. As she stood there someone called out,

"James, you lucky devil!"

He opened his eyes and looked straight at her.

"Hello!" she said quietly feeling shy before him and with so many other people in the room taking notice of her.

He looked at her as if he couldn't believe she was really here. He didn't speak and Molly's nerves began to take over.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't get here before now and you had visitor. I didn't want to disturb you."

She was rambling, lost for what to say. She had thought so many times during the past few days about getting here and had been worrying about him for six days with no one to talk to. She hadn't imagined it would be like this with him silently staring at her and giving her the feeling he didn't want her here. Was she imagining that look? She had dreamed of him being overjoyed to see her but he wasn't smiling at her and now he was even looking away unwilling to meet her eye. When he finally spoke his voice was very quiet and hesitant.

"I think I've made a mistake, Molly."

She stared at him. Her heart froze and she hardly dared to ask the next question.

"What about?"

He turned his head to face her. She was still standing at the end of his bed, transfixed.

"About Smithy. I told him he should bale out but I don't know if I did the right thing."

She breathed out and stepped around the bed to his side sitting down on the chair alongside him. She lowered her voice.

"The others said he was badly injured and it was his only chance." She offered.

She saw anxiety on his face and he nervously bit his lower lip before replying.

"He knew about us."

Molly was dumbstruck.

"He saw us together just before take-off." He let the information sink in before continuing. "Just before he was injured he told me he knew. He was furious and if I'm honest I was angry with him too. I told him to leave the cockpit and that's when it happened." He shook his head. "If I'd just done something differently or kept myself under control before or after we took off, everything might have been alright. I'm the Captain. I should have known better!"

Molly had initially listened in horror to the news that Smithy had found out about herself and Charles and worse, had known as they left on the last operation. She remembered his silence when she had spoken to him that last time. She could see that Charles had been turning this idea over for days. She had never seen him tortured by self-doubt before and it worried her.

"Anything could have happened at any time." She said with a conviction she hoped she was conveying to him. "He could have stayed where he was and been hit by a bullet like you were. The others saw his parachute open. He may well be alive now because you gave him a chance. We'll all just have to wait and see."

She grasped his hand and squeezed it firmly.

"You told me not to blame myself well now I'm telling you the same thing."

He turned to look at her and saw for the first time a steely resolve in her eyes. As he spoke she saw just the tiniest twitch of smile in the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, Ma'am!"

They said very little for the next ten minutes. Despite having told Molly she could only stay a few minutes, the Sister kindly turned a blind eye to the clock and allowed Molly to sit quietly with Charles. She saw her holding his hand whilst he lay back on the pillows with his eyes shut, apparently resting and realised how much she missed her fiancé, Clive. They seemed like a nice young couple who must be very much in love and she was glad she could do something kind for someone else.

Molly wasn't sure if Charles had fallen asleep. She supposed he must have been given morphine or something for the pain in his leg or possibly he was just very weary from the conversation. Whilst he lay there resting, her thoughts naturally turned back to Smithy. Charles was blaming himself for what had happened but a sense of guilt was gradually creeping into Molly's consciousness. Only the night before the last operation she had been sitting with Smithy's arm around her and had accepted a ring from him. She knew she had made no promises to him but now she could see it all through different eyes; his eyes. She had known that he had feelings for her and in a moment of weakness due to her hot-headed refusal to listen to Charles she had inadvertently given him hope. She remembered how he had behaved when he thought she had got him into trouble with the Skipper. He had showed his anger and meted out unfair retribution upon her. She could only imagine how he must have felt seeing her and Charles together before that last flight and she could well believe how he might have responded. If anyone was to blame she reasoned that she was. Her thoughts moved from Smithy to Hattie; another person who had good reason to blame her. She had interfered in Hattie's life and her actions had led to the death of Hattie's father and a life for her as an orphan. She wasn't proud of herself at this moment in fact she was dismayed and it was here and now that she made a resolution. She would find a way to make things better somehow.

Charles still seemed to be asleep and Molly wondered if perhaps she ought to leave. She started to loosen her grip on his hand and his eyes flew open.

"Were you asleep?" she asked.

"Not really. Just thinking or maybe dreaming, I suppose, about what I'm going to do after this."

"You're going to be alright!" She said with a little hesitation in her voice.

He smiled wearily at her, "Are you asking me or telling me?"

She shrugged she didn't know. She was waiting for some indicator from him.

"The doctors say I'll be alright but they're not sure about my leg. I don't think I'll be Jitterbugging or flying again!"

His voice sounded neutral and Molly wasn't sure how he really felt about this.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly looking down at her hand lying in his.

"I'm not!" He sounded content and she looked at him in surprise, "Well, maybe about the Jitterbugging!" He added.

For the first time since she had arrived at the hospital he laughed before saying in a more serious voice.

"I used to think flying was the most important thing in my life. It was part of the reason I volunteered for a third tour."

"Only part of the reason?" Molly queried.

He nodded and without any hint of cynicism in his expression said,

"I volunteered after Rebecca threw me over. You see, I never really want to be an instructor. I was only doing it for her. She wanted a safe bet, remember?"

He paused.

"But now it means there's a future for us and that's what I really want."

He gently pulled her hand towards him and Molly, no longer caring who was watching them, bent over him until her forehead was almost touching his and her eyes were level with those deep, wonderfully intense brown eyes of his.

"Is that what _you'd_ like, Molly?"

She reached out to touch his face and hold it gently within the comforting embrace of her hands.

"Do you really need to ask?"


	14. Chapter 14

The rain water dripped through the roof of the hut, splashed onto Smithy's face and woke him from a fitful sleep. Laying on his bunk, wearing all the clothes he possessed and wrapped in a scratchy blanket, he was still cold. It was early morning but everywhere was still in darkness and for a moment his mind turned to the dream he had just left. He was back at RAF Milton with Kinders and Berry and they were talking about the next operation. Kinders was calculating the odds of returning as one in ten, Berry was arguing against this whilst Smithy had simply dismissed the argument altogether and said that any of them would be lucky to return. He closed his eyes and tried to picture himself back with the crew but the dream had gone.

Luck! In the last six weeks there had been plenty of time to consider how fortunate he believed himself to be. The German doctor who had treated him in the hospital when he had been picked up after baling out, had told him in thickly accented English,

"You are a very lucky man." A statement he qualified by informing Smithy that one of the best orthopaedic surgeons in Germany was based at the hospital and had saved his arm and his life. Smithy was grateful and knew he always would be but he didn't consider himself lucky to have been shot-up, forced to bale-out leaving the rest of his crew behind, captured by the enemy and now incarcerated for the duration of the war. To this he mentally added the fiasco with Molly. He tried not to think about Molly too much but there was little else to do here but think.

After baling out of the Lancaster, Smithy had no memory of his descent beyond pulling the ripcord of the parachute. He had been told by doctors in the hospital that his parachute had been seen descending by a detachment of Hitler Youth on fire watching duties and he had landed in a field only a few hundred yards from the centre of a small village. The proximity of the landing site to the village had saved his life. He had been found within a few minutes, unconscious and badly wounded. In spite of the fact he was one of those dubbed a 'Terror Flieger' or terror flyer, human decency had won out and the local doctor had been called immediately. He had done his best to keep Smithy alive until an ambulance could take him to the main hospital where he had been treated promptly and with care. In this respect he knew he had been lucky.

After three weeks in hospital Smithy was judged fit enough to transfer to a Prisoner of War camp and had ended up, after a journey of three days, half of it in a cattle truck, deposited at Stalag Luft I at Barth on the Baltic Sea. Before leaving hospital he had been visited a few times by Luftwaffe intelligence officers who spoke excellent English and treated him with a sympathetic and friendly respect that he and other aircrew had been warned about by intelligence officers in England. Their aim was to loosen the tongue of unsuspecting aircrew through friendly chat and conversation. Those not on their guard could let slip seemingly harmless information that might help the Luftwaffe piece together useful operational intelligence. Smithy was wary, particularly when the Luftwaffe Major named some of the officers within his bomb group and dropped them casually into conversation. Smithy tried to maintain the friendly attitude recommended, replied non-specifically to any question and gave nothing away other than his name, rank and serial number.

He remembered his arrival at Barth in company with other aircrew that had come from the Dulag Luft Interrogation Centre near Frankfurt. It had been a strangely unsettling feeling arriving at a camp full of British, Canadian and American inmates to be met by a largely silent group of on-lookers weighing them up, torn between sympathy for them coming to terms with their plight as prisoners and envy that they were the most recently arrived from England. Smithy had been struck by the strange appearance of many of the men, wearing unusual combinations of clothing most of which had at one time or other been their uniforms. As he lay listening to the mutterings, rustlings and snores of his five fellow room occupants, he shivered and wondered if it would be possible to get hold of any warmer clothing.

The rain was falling on the roof and dripping through gaps where the roofing felt had been worn away. Smithy shifted his position in the wooden bunk; the creaking caused the Scottish rear gunner sleeping below him to groan at being disturbed. Not that Smithy was bothered. Morrison was never happy unless he had something to complain about in which case, Smithy thought to himself, Morrison was definitely in the right place. He had noticed how people were irritated by small things that would barely have raised an eyebrow in his crew at RAF Milton. Being cooped up with so many other men without meaningful activity brought petty squabbles to the surface. In the short time he had been here, he realised that the biggest struggle they all faced now was boredom coupled with a lack of all those minor things in life that were normally taken for granted but meant so much when they were absent.

In an hour or so they would rise and the unvarying routine of camp life would begin. After Roll Call, breakfast would be prepared by each room in turn on the small stove within the hut. The meagre German rations would have to be eked out with the small amount of Red Cross parcel food that arrived each week. Later they would stroll around the compound walking in twos next to the warning wire ten yards from the perimeter fence, chatting idly about everything under the sun or the latest camp gossip. There were many attempts to relieve the boredom of life here such as football, cricket or rugby games or attending lectures on a wide variety of subjects given by those with expertise in civilian life. There was a Red Cross library and many prisoners read voraciously. Smithy had learned that the camp inmates called themselves 'Kriegies' a short version of the German for prisoner of war, 'Kriegsgefangene'. They called the German guards goons and the friendly English speaking camp staff who wandered around keeping an eye on activities, 'ferrets'.

Smithy had been able to send a short postcard home to his mother in Newport as soon as he was well enough to write and like so many others now waited on a daily basis for mail to arrive. Sometimes there was nothing for anyone and on other occasions several letters would arrive at once. He had quickly learned that the four main areas of interest to all 'Kriegies' seemed to be the mail, weather, food and news. Mail was the only link with home and a chance to catch up with loved ones although letters were censored. The weather made a huge difference to all of them. When the weather was bad they spent even more time in close proximity to people with the potential to irritate them. Food either cheered people or depressed them depending on its quality or availability and news was something that spread around the camp like wildfire. Although the goons were always carrying out searches, ingeniously home-made radio sets were concealed in various places around the camp and the 'kriegies' seemed to be surprisingly well-informed. Smithy and all the new camp arrivals had been interrogated for news of everything from military advances to the latest films and jokes on the radio. When Smithy had given up to them all the news he had about the war, he was surprised at how much they already seemed to know.

After eating his breakfast and taking several turns around the camp, the chill wind from the Baltic drove Smithy back inside to the relative warmth of the hut. He was still wearing his left arm in a sling and found it difficult sometimes to manage consequently he was excused at the moment some of the cleaning and cooking duties that others undertook on a rota basis to share the workload. He wandered down the corridor to his room, hoping that it might be empty and was in luck. For once he could enjoy having the space to himself. He climbed up onto his bunk and lying on his back stared up at the ceiling. At least it had stopped raining and the water was no longer splashing on his face.

The only problem with peace and quiet was that it encouraged him to think too much. He had run over those final events on the last operation so many times and he knew that being hit had been simple bad luck but he kept wondering if he had been sitting in the cockpit where he should have been might he now be back at RAF Milton with the rest of the crew? There was no doubt in his mind that he regretted the exchange with the Skipper. He had lost control of himself. He'd had six weeks to think about everything that had happened that day and he knew now that there was something he needed to do. He left the room and went out into the communal part of the hut. Lying on a central table was some paper and blunt looking pencils. He sat down and began to write.

Molly turned up the collar of her greatcoat against the chill of early November and shivered. She couldn't decide if it was caused by the frost in the air or the sight of St Hilda's Children's Home, a large forbidding Victorian house in the Gothic style of architecture so popular eighty years before. The house stood some way back from the road along a driveway over-arched by trees giving the appearance of a dark tunnel leading up to the front of the house. She pushed open the ironwork gate which creaked on its hinges and stepped onto the gravel driveway beyond leading to the grand portico at the entrance. Molly looked up and decided that whoever had designed this house was fond of turrets and gargoyles as it seemed to be half church, half castle.

At the large wooden entrance door a notice proclaimed that all visitors should report to the Matron. Molly rang the bell and waited for what seemed like an age before she heard the door unlocked and unbolted and it was opened by a middle-aged woman in the starched dress and apron of a children's nurse.

"Yes?" she said rather officiously and Molly was taken aback.

"I wondered if it would be possible to see Hattie Tyler."

The nurse regarded her suspiciously taking in her WAAF uniform.

"And you are?"

Molly wondered how to describe herself and settled on,

"A friend."

"Do you have a prior arrangement?" The nurse enquired.

"No." Molly confirmed, "I just came on the off chance."

"I see." The woman looked doubtful and Molly thought she was about to turn her away but she was determined to make some progress and remembering the notice on the door she said firmly,

"Please could I speak to the Matron? It's important." She looked directly at the nurse who appeared to have made a decision.

"You'd better come in and wait. I'll see if I can find her."

She ushered Molly into the hall and shut, locked and bolted the door behind her.

Away in the distance along a corridor branching off to the right of the hall she could hear children's voices. A door opened and closed and she caught the sound of young children singing a nursery rhyme. She concentrated and recognised 'Ring-a-Roses'. She listened for the final shout of 'We all fall down!' and heard it followed by laughter. She glanced around her and saw a noticeboard filled with instructions for children and visitors alike; a comprehensive list of do's and don'ts. Everything felt like the nurse's apron; starched and unbending.

When Molly had approached RAF Police Sergeant Jones and asked him if he could find out what had happened to Hattie Tyler, he had been surprised but after she had convinced him that all she wanted was to satisfy herself that Hattie was settled, he had been willing to make some enquiries with the civilian police. Two days later he had given her the name of St Hilda's Children's Home in Danesbury, five miles north of Grantley. As soon as Molly got a half-day pass she had set off for Danesbury determined to see for herself that Hattie was alright.

On that afternoon, weeks before, soon after the crash, when she had been sitting at Charles' bedside dismayed by the events that had occurred she had resolved to do something. She hadn't been sure at that time what it would be but she had decided that the least she could do would be to visit Hattie and ensure that she was well cared for.

About five minutes after Molly's arrival a tall, respectably dressed woman in her forties, came through the Hall towards her. She wasn't wearing a uniform and she didn't smile but she spoke with a calm air of authority.

"I'm Miss Tyndall, the Matron. Can I help you, Miss…?"

"Dawes." Molly supplied.

"Miss Dawes," She repeated. "I understand that you're enquiring about Hattie Tyler."

Molly nodded.

"I wondered if I could see her."

"Are you a relative?" Miss Tyndall asked.

Molly shook her head, "No. I met Hattie before she came to live here. I was wondering how she was getting on."

"I see." Miss Tyndall appeared to be considering something.

"How did you come to know her? I ask because Hattie's father was involved with some unfortunate people."

"I know." Molly said. "It was me who put the police on to him."

"Oh!" Miss Tyndall's expression changed and she looked more friendly.

"Why don't you come through to my office. We'll be able to talk there."

She led Molly along the corridor and into a ground floor office with a large arched window facing out onto the garden. She moved behind her desk and indicated the visitor's chair for Molly. They both sat down.

"Forgive me for the questions, Miss Dawes, it's just that you're the first person to enquire about Hattie since she arrived here and she's been orphaned in rather tragic circumstances."

Molly nodded. "I know."

She judged it unwise to give Miss Tyndall the details of what had transpired shortly before Bill Tyler had died or the fact that she had been with him.

She took a deep breath and continued. "I've been worried about Hattie, you see, ever since. I went to the Police and then her Dad scarpered and abandoned her and, well, he died. It's played on my mind."

She saw a kindly understanding on the woman's face.

"You feel a sense of responsibility?"

Molly nodded.

Miss Tyndall spoke slowly and carefully. "Hattie is being well cared for. She is a quiet girl but all the years with her father have taken their toll, I'm afraid. By all accounts he wasn't a very nice man." She stressed 'nice' with a sense of irony that didn't escape Molly.

"Does she really have no family?" Molly asked.

"Well, none we can trace. I understand that no one seems to know what happened to her mother." Miss Tyndall replied.

"Has anyone asked Hattie?" Molly enquired.

Miss Tyndall looked away through the window apparently considering an answer.

"Sometimes when children have had such a difficult time it's better to let them settle and put things behind them. I'm sure in time that Hattie will come to terms with what has happened."

Molly was torn. She knew Miss Tyndall was a kind woman at heart who meant to do her best for Hattie but she felt very strongly.

"But Miss Tyndall, if there's a chance she could be with her mother, surely someone should try to find her?"

Miss Tyndall was unmoved in her opinion.

"You mean well, Miss Dawes, I can see that but I think it could be a mistake."

Molly nodded but didn't agree.

"Could I see Hattie before I go, just for a little while?"

Miss Tyndall nodded, "Very well. She should be going out to play soon. You can go out and join her for a while if you like."

Miss Tyndall led her through the house and then out into the garden. It was cold but the sun was trying to break through the grey sky. Out in the garden Molly saw twenty or so older boys and girls aged between about seven and thirteen years of age running around, whooping and playing chase. Miss Tyndall stopped at the top of a short flight of steps leading down to the lawn.

"There's Hattie. Over there!" She pointed across the garden and Molly saw her sitting alone on a bench. She was warmly dressed in a grey wool coat and Molly recognised the red beret on her head.

"I'll let the nurse know. They'll be out here for half an hour. Why don't you go and have a chat." She turned and walked back into the house.

As Molly crossed the garden she drew the attention of some of the children who ran up to her eager to talk. She greeted them and patted the little one's heads. They reminded her of her brothers and sisters. It had been so long since Molly had seen them. As she approached Hattie, the girl looked up. Molly could see surprise in her face, but no hostility.

"Hello Hattie. Remember me?"

Hattie nodded.

"Can I sit down?" She nodded again and Molly sat next to her.

"How are you? Do you like it here?" She tried to sound cheerful.

"It's alright!" Hattie said in a flat tone.

"Have you made any friends?" Molly continued, "I bet there's loads of girls to play with here."

"I play with Josie sometimes." She pointed to a dark-haired girl running around in the distance, "she's alright!"

"That's nice. It's good to have a friend." Molly said quietly.

"Dad's dead." Hattie said suddenly, looking around at Molly.

Molly gazed at her in pity.

"I know. I'm sorry." She replied carefully.

"I don't really miss him, though. I thought I would but…" she trailed off.

"Well, sometimes it's like that." Molly answered, unsure how to respond.

"I missed my mum, though, when she went."

Molly looked at Hattie and remembering everything Miss Tyndall had said earlier and tried to bite her tongue but she couldn't help herself.

"Where did she go, Hattie?"

Hattie shrugged. "I don't know. I was only about eight. Dad said she didn't want us anymore. I remember going somewhere just with Mum on a train to a really big place, like a city, but Dad came and fetched me back and I didn't see her anymore."

They were approached by Josie who beckoned to Hattie.

"Your friend wants to play." Molly said.

She saw Hattie brighten and she stood up to go before turning to Molly and saying.

"She had long blond hair and she smelled like violets – just like her name, she used to say. I used to ask Dad about her and he'd keep saying we'd go back to the Dragonfly one day. But we never did!"

Josie had taken hold of Hattie's hand and dragged her away. She looked back over her shoulder and called,

"Bye!"

Molly smiled. She had seen for herself that Hattie was alright and was being looked after but better than that, she had just told Molly something really important.

Molly left St Hilda's shortly afterwards. She said nothing about Hattie's words to Miss Tyndall but as she sat on the bus on the return journey to Grantley, a plan was forming in her mind. She reflected that she would like to have discussed it with Charles but there was no chance of doing that. She thought of the way the discussion would probably have gone and she could almost see him giving her that intense, slightly exasperated look whilst telling her in a concerned but stern manner, "Don't get involved." She shook her head at the thought and made a silent mental apology to him. With luck he wouldn't need to know what she was planning to do or at least not until it had been accomplished.

She had managed to see Charles one more time at the hospital before he was moved to an RAF officer's nursing home near Bath in the middle of October. Unbeknown to Charles his Mother had put in a special request and managed to get her son transferred to a nursing home near them. When it transpired later that she had pulled a few strings, Charles had been annoyed particularly when he discovered that the favour had been acquired through Rebecca's Wing Commander. He was annoyed not only that his Mother had sought a favour through Rebecca but also because it had taken him so far away from Molly.

There was nothing Charles could do about his situation after the fact. He had written to Molly apologising and explaining that it was largely his own fault things had turned out this way. He hadn't yet told his parents about her. He intended to tell them as soon as he could and he wanted them to meet her. She was pleased of course that Charles wanted his parents to get to know her but she was worried as well. The one occasion she had seen Charles' mother had reminded her that before the war they would have moved in very different circles and the chance of Molly ever being close to someone like him was very slim. She wasn't sure if his parents would accept her, especially after his having been engaged to Rebecca who was clearly a very different sort of girl to herself. Charles had written to Molly telling her how much he missed her and urging her to visit him the next time she had any leave and she intended to do so as soon as she could.

Everything was different for Molly now at RAF Milton. The loss of the first C for Charlie had affected her in so many ways. She hadn't appreciated how much her life had become entangled with that of the aeroplane and the rest of the crew until it was gone. She had been new to RAF Milton and finding her feet at the same time that they had been a fresh new crew with an experienced captain. She had seen them going through their first operations, changing before her eyes with their experiences and come to know them all. Now Charles and Berry were trying to recover from their injuries on the Krefeld operation and neither of them would fly as aircrew again. Mansfield and Nuttall had joined F for Freddy and said that the Skipper was a decent man but it was obvious they preferred their old Skipper. Kinders had replaced an injured Navigator in P for Popsie and Fingerson had flown with R for Robert before being hit by some flak over Berlin a week ago and was currently in hospital himself although he was expected to make a full recovery.

The one memory that hurt her the most was Smithy's. Whenever she thought of Smithy she was filled with regret about the way things had turned out. She knew that if she could have gone back in time she would have changed many things that related to him. Perhaps if on that very first occasion they had met at the training course dance she had chosen to leave with her friends instead of staying behind with him, it might have made a difference. However, in spite of everything that had happened she realised that above all she missed him and she wished he could have been here so that they could have had the chance to put everything right.

Two days later, Molly was leaving the WAAF Mess after lunch when she saw Jackie approaching her rapidly with a beaming smile on her face.

"Molly, I'm glad I caught you. I've got really good news."

Molly waited with bated breath,

"I just saw Archie Kinders and he said that news has come through from the Red Cross. Smithy's a prisoner of war. He survived, Molly!"

Molly smiled in relief. Her first thought was to tell Charles as soon as possible.

"That's great news, Jackie."

"You'll be able to write to him, Molly!" Jackie continued.

Molly knew that as much as she was not ready to tell anyone about Charles, she had to put paid once and for all to this misunderstanding. She looked earnestly at Jackie.

"I don't think Smithy would want to hear from me, Jackie. We're not 'sweet' on each other or anything else. At least I'm not 'sweet' on Smithy and he knows it."

Molly saw surprise on Jackie's face.

"In fact," Molly continued to emphasise her feelings, "I think I'd be the last person he'd want to hear from!"

"Did you fall out?" Jackie asked at once.

Molly couldn't help smiling, "No, Jackie. We were never together. Everyone just kept thinking it!"

Jackie was looking at her with a degree of curiosity, "So you're not keen on Smithy?" she clarified.

Molly shook her head. "No. I never have been or not in that way but I am very glad for him."

Jackie smiled broadly, "So am I."

Jackie went into the Mess looking very happy and Molly was about to leave and return to the hangar and workshop on the other side of the aerodrome, not relishing the chilly ride on her bicycle, when a WAAF Sergeant from Admin called out to her.

"Dawes!"

Molly stopped short surprised to be addressed by someone with whom she normally had nothing to do.

"Yes Sergeant."

The WAAF Sergeant, a woman in her thirties not known for her sense of humour, looked Molly up and down taking in the state of her overalls, the smudge of oil on her face and the wispy hair that had come loose and been blown around in the wind.

"I suppose you'll have to do." She said in a resigned voice.

Molly looked at her innocently, "Why Sergeant?"

"The C.O. and Wing Officer want to see you as soon as possible. Double away!"

Molly swallowed hard. She couldn't imagine what she had done wrong to be called before the C.O. and the WAAF Wing Officer.

"Why do they want to see me, Sergeant?" She wanted to be forewarned if she was about to get into trouble.

The sergeant looked at her with exasperation, "How should I know, Dawes? I was sent to fetch you and you'd better hurry away and not keep them waiting."

Molly nodded, "Yes Sergeant."

She took a deep breath and went out of the Mess into the cold bracing wind and walked as briskly as she could to the Admin block where she would find the C.O.'s office.

It was warmer in the Admin block out of the wind but even here there wasn't a lot of heating. Molly caught sight of her reflection in the glass of a picture frame and grimaced. She wished she had been given time to change but there was nothing to be done about it. She would have to present herself as she was. She found the C.O.'s office and knocked on the door. The Adjutant called,

"Come in."

She presented herself before his desk.

"Aircraftwoman Dawes to see the Commanding Officer, Sir."

"Very good, Dawes. Wait here."

The Adjutant rose from his desk, knocked on the inner door of the office and spoke to the C.O., Group Captain Peters. Molly saw him nod and then stand aside for her holding the door open.

"You can go in, Dawes."

She went through the door and saw the C.O. standing behind his desk. To his left was Wing Officer Michaels. Molly stood to attention and saluted both of them smartly.

"At ease, Dawes." The C.O. said in what Molly noted was a friendly sounding voice.

"I expect you wonder why you've been asked to come here?"

"Yes, Sir." Molly replied nervously but growing more curious by the minute.

"Well, Dawes, it is my great honour to inform you that in recognition of your actions and bravery on the tenth of May 1943 in rescuing Flying Officer Ramsay and Sergeant Smith after the crash of D-Donald, His Majesty King George VI has awarded you the George Medal. Congratulations, Dawes."

To her great surprise the C.O. reached out and shook her hand and this was swiftly followed by Wing Officer Michaels doing the same.

Molly was dumbstruck. She had never expected such an honour.

"Well Dawes," the C.O. said smiling at her, "You'll be making a trip to Buckingham Palace very soon to receive the award from His Majesty and I expect there will be a spot of leave for you too."

When Molly finally managed to get through on the telephone to Charles at the nursing home his voice was very faint and distant sounding.

"I've got news," Molly shouted excitedly.

"I'm all ears!" He laughed.

"I'm going to Buckingham Palace. The King is giving me the George Medal." She was waiting for his response. When it came it was unexpected.

"So they're giving it to you, then!"

"Did you know?" She cried almost outraged.

He had no choice but to admit it.

"I may have heard Groupie say something in passing about recommending you for a medal?"

"You knew all this time and you didn't say." Molly said starting to laugh.

"I couldn't be sure, Molly. I didn't want to get your hopes up. But you deserve it. You really do." She heard the pride in his voice and knew he was very happy for her.

"There's more good news." Molly said, "I'm going to be given some leave at the same time. I've got a couple of things I need to do but I think I'll be able to come to Bath to meet you."

Despite the crackle and hiss on the line she heard the happiness in his voice as he said,

"That's wonderful! It'll give me something to look forward to."

**_Author's Note: The George Medal was instituted on 24_****_th_****_ September 1940 by King George VI. It was introduced primarily to recognise bravery displayed by civilians but it was also awarded to military personnel for gallant conduct that was not in the face of the enemy. During World War Two many George Medals were awarded to members of the armed forces who displayed bravery in rescuing other personnel in circumstances similar to the fictional crash in Chapter 5._**


	15. Chapter 15

**_This is the penultimate chapter of 'Another Time Another Place'_**

Standing opposite the entrance to the Dragonfly Club in a seedy back street of Soho, Molly reflected on the fact that no one seeing her at this moment would believe that only yesterday she had been presented to King George VI at Buckingham Palace to receive a medal for bravery. This was a very far cry from the opulent surroundings in which she and her mother had found themselves yesterday. Molly would never forget the look of pride on her mother's face seeing her eldest child recognised by the highest personage in the land. Her mother had looked very smart thanks to her friend Cynthia who had loaned her a beautiful pre-war two piece outfit in blue with a matching hat.

"I feel like Cinderella going to the ball." Her mum had joked on their way to Buckingham Palace and they had arrived in a taxi no less.

It had been a proud moment for Molly as well when the citation had been read and the King had presented her with the George Medal and congratulated her. She had almost been tongue-tied but managed to at least utter in a respectful tone.

"Thank you, Sir."

She had never expected anyone to commend her for her actions and she still didn't believe that what she had done was out of the ordinary. It seemed a natural instinct to her to help those in need. When her dad had clapped her on the back and said, "I can't believe my little girl's a heroine." Molly had replied honestly,

"I'm not, Dad. Anyone there would have done the same. I was the just the person who got there first."

However, Dave would hear nothing of it and continued to make much of the news. Molly suspected it had resulted in many a pint being purchased for him in the Earl of Wakefield.

The biggest surprise had come after the ceremony when Molly and her mum had arrived back at St Michael's Church Hall to find a party laid on in her honour. Cynthia and the ladies of the WVS had done her proud, pooling resources and ration coupons to put on a feast the like of which hadn't been seen for some years. The hall was decked out with bunting and a painted banner saying,

_'Well Done, Molly Dawes!'_

It was lovely to see family, old friends and neighbours assembled here and all to recognise her. Molly was overwhelmed and humbled. She looked around all the familiar faces and wondered how many of them had ever thought they would be doing something like this for her. The only people missing whose presence would have made it perfect were her brothers and sisters and Charles.

Molly had looked around the room at all the happy faces and been delighted to see her mum and dad dancing to Glenn Miller's 'Moonlight Serenade' that someone had put on the gramophone. Her mum looked beautiful today and even her dad had smartened himself up for the occasion and squeezed himself into the single suit that he possessed. They were laughing, sharing a joke and Molly's heart lifted at the sight.

"They look happy don't they?"

Molly turned to see Cynthia standing next to her.

"Yes. It makes a change." Molly commented.

"Well, things have been changing." Cynthia informed her, "In fact, your father is a man of surprises."

Molly turned to look at her. There was no irony in her expression.

"Oh yes, Molly, it turns out your father is just as he claimed to be, green-fingered. Not only has he transformed your back yard but he's helping many of your neighbours as well. In fact, he's rapidly become our best source of advice on things horticultural, so to speak."

Molly was amazed and it showed in her face. She had clearly underestimated her father and it warmed her heart to know that he was valued by others.

"Yes," Cynthia sighed appreciatively, "It's never too late to discover your talents in life."

Molly had located the Dragonfly Club with some difficulty. When Hattie had mentioned 'The Dragonfly' to her it had rung a dim distant bell in her mind. Somewhere she had heard the name mentioned. However, it was this, combined with the news that Hattie's mother was called Violet, that had convinced her it might be possible to find her.

Despite having lived in London all her life, Molly had seldom ventured up west and she suspected that the Dragonfly Club was not somewhere her parents would be familiar with. She had hesitated for a few days after her visit to Hattie, wondering who might be able to help her until she settled upon Will Davis, her fellow ground crew member. Will, a married man in his thirties with two young children, was one of the quieter chaps. He had been one of the few men not to have joined in with the insults and ribald comments when Smithy had told lies about her. She decided that he was the most trustworthy person to ask. Nevertheless, he seemed a little shocked when she casually asked him one evening in The White Horse if he had ever heard of the club in London.

"Crikey, Molly, what kind of chap do you think I am?"

"I just wondered if you knew where it was. Someone asked me about it." She said vaguely.

Will gave her a long look. There was probably more to this than met the eye but he answered truthfully.

"I think it's in Soho. I don't know why you're asking Molly but my advice is don't have anything to do with it." He nodded at her and she could tell the conversation was over as far as he was concerned.

Standing opposite the entrance to the Dragonfly Club on a miserable grey lunchtime in early December, watching a regular flow of single male customers through the door, Molly was beginning to get an idea of why Will Davis had told her to keep away from the place. Many of those going into the Club were GI's with considerably more money to spend than their British counterparts and with the added benefit of regular access to London from the vast number of USAAF bomber bases that had spread across the south east of England since the middle of 1942. Dressed in her WAAF uniform, Molly felt very conspicuous and began to wish she had changed into civilian clothes although she reasoned that it might have only increased the number of unwelcome comments being thrown in her direction. Despite her uniform she had already been propositioned twice and was beginning to lose her nerve. She was taking a deep breath and resolving that she must go into the club when she was startled by a voice to her left.

"How long are you gonna stand there, love? You'll freeze to death if you hang about any longer."

She turned to see a brassy blonde-haired woman, heavily made up wearing bright red lipstick and dressed in a fake fur jacket split open to reveal a red dress with plenty of cleavage who was tottering towards her on a pair of very high heels.

Molly was trying to think of a response when the woman continued,

"Come to think of it, love, what are you doing here?"

Up close Molly couldn't tell how old the woman was. She reasoned she could have been anything from her mid-twenties up to possibly forty years of age.

"I've come here to try to find someone." She said.

"A bloke is it?" The woman said in a knowing voice as if she had heard the story a hundred times before.

"No." Molly replied. "A woman. I think she may have been working here."

The brassy blonde raised her eyebrows, "Well, they come and go, alright. What's her name, love?"

Molly said cautiously, "Violet. Possibly Violet Tyler."

The blonde seemed to be thinking about this for a while.

"It don't ring a bell with me, but I don't work there. You need to see Maisie. She knows all the girls. Come on, I'll take you in."

Without another word she grabbed Molly by the arm and led her across the alleyway to the club entrance. As they opened the door, music and laughter could be heard from within. It was stuffy with cigarette smoke and the stale smell of beer trodden into the dirty looking carpet that led down the stairs to the cellar where the club was located. It was dark. The room had a small dance floor and there were wooden booths around the edge in which couples were sitting and drinking. There was also a corridor leading off to the left along which men occasionally disappeared. Molly felt very out of place and she was given a few strange looks. The woman led her across the dance floor to a bar at the rear of the room. Working behind the bar was an older, smartly dressed dark-haired woman who looked curiously at the sight of Molly accompanied by the brassy blonde.

"What are you doing in here, Lily?" She said to her.

"Just found a waif and stray here looking for some information about a girl who might have worked her called…" she turned to Molly.

"Violet. Violet Tyler?" Molly supplied.

"Violet?" The woman said in surprise.

"Do you know her?" Molly asked.

"Oh yes, but she's not here now."

Molly was disappointed.

"But I did hear she was working as a barmaid at the Kings Head near the Palace Theatre. You could try there." Maisie offered.

Molly was grateful but there was a question burning in her mind and she was dreading asking it, "What did Violet do here?"

The woman laughed, "Don't worry, love, she worked behind the bar. She didn't stay long, it wasn't quite her 'cup of tea' here but she needed the money. I think her husband was a bit of a 'good for nothing' and she was trying to get away from him."

Molly was relieved. Having seen this place she was remembering Miss Tyndall's words and wondering whether she should simply have let everything lie.

"Thanks. You've been really helpful."

"No worries, love." Maisie replied, "Say hello if you find her."

"I will."

Molly turned to go and saw Lily standing at the bar chatting to a GI who had just come into the club. She was just about to say thank you to her when a short, middle-aged man dressed in a flashy suit, with slicked back hair and smoking a cigarette strode across the dance floor.

"Oi, Lily, what have I told you about coming in here looking for punters. Get out now!" He jabbed his head roughly in the direction of the exit.

Lily had turned to look at him.

"Calm down, Stan. I was just getting out of the cold for a minute and looking after my friend here." She pointed in Molly's direction and he caught sight of her for the first time.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" He asked, taking in the incongruous sight of her WAAF uniform in his club.

"She was just making some enquiries." Maisie called from behind the bar, "And she's leaving now."

"Enquiries?" Stan said approaching her until he was uncomfortably close. "Well, nothing's free here, love. Not even 'enquiries'."

Molly recognised the hint of menace in his voice and began to regret not walking away earlier. At this point Lily intervened marching up to Stan and saying,

"Leave her alone Stan, she's only a girl. She don't mean any harm."

Molly could tell he was a man with a short fuse.

"I told you to get out."

He grabbed Lily by the arm, twisting it behind her back. She cried out in pain.

"You're gonna break my bloody arm!"

Molly instinctively stepped forward and caught hold of Stan's free arm to pull him away from Lily but he responded immediately by letting go of Lily and swinging his arm up and around him to land her a stinging blow across the face. She stumbled and fell backwards but he had followed her, grasping the lapels of her greatcoat to pull her upright.

"I don't know who you think you are?" He began but in that moment as he bellowed into her face holding her uncomfortably close to him, Molly remembered the advice she had been given by Elsie, the former prostitute and brought her knee up as sharply as she could catching him in the groin. To add to it she then stamped hard on his foot with her heel. He released his grip almost instantaneously and bent double in pain. At the same moment she felt Lily grab her hand and pull her away from the dance floor. She stumbled blindly along behind her and up the stairs back out into the relative fresh air of the alley. They carried on running until they had turned out of the alley and were back in the main street.

Lily was laughing, "Did they teach you that in the WAAF?"

Molly tried to smile back at her but her lip and face hurt,

"Sort of!" she replied.

"Well good on you. He's had that coming for a long time. Nasty piece of work!"

Molly found a handkerchief in her pocket and dabbed at the cut to her lip.

"It's not too bad, love." Lily said, "I've had worse."

After cleaning her face up as best she could, Molly thanked Lily for her help and they went their separate ways. Catching her reflection in a shop window, she didn't think that she looked too bad but she'd never been hit by anyone before and she couldn't help feeling upset about it. It was just her luck she thought, to be presented to the King one day and punched in the mouth by a seedy crook the next.

About half an hour later, Molly found the Kings Head pub near the Palace Theatre and feeling more confident than before, pushed the door open and went in. The pub was still serving as it was just after two o'clock and there were still plenty of customers, the majority in uniform and on leave. As she made her way to the bar she attracted a few looks and comments but side stepped them. As she reached the bar she looked around hoping to see someone of Violet's description but there was only an elderly barman at work. He approached her to take her order.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Violet Tyler. Do you know if she works here?" She asked.

The man frowned,

"There's a Violet but her name's not Tyler. She's out the back on her break. Shall I give her a shout?"

Molly nodded and the man called loudly,

"Violet. Someone out here to see you!"

There was a pause before a voice called back, "Who is it?"

Molly called out to her, "I'm a friend of Hattie's"

After the pub closed at the end of lunch, Vic, the barman and as it turned out the Landlord of the King's Head, allowed Violet and Molly to sit in the bar and talk. When Violet had appeared behind the bar in answer to Molly's call, she had looked exactly as Molly had expected from Hattie's description. She was in her early thirties, blonde-haired, blue-eyed the very image of Hattie. She had been wary, clearly afraid as she emerged from the room behind the bar but relieved when Vic indicated Molly. Within a few minutes Molly had informed Violet of Bill's death and Hattie's life in the Orphanage. She could tell that Violet was shocked but she had displayed no distress at the news of Bill's death. She still had half an hour of her shift to work, so Molly waited patiently in the corner of the bar for her to finish and once the doors had been locked they sat down to talk.

"I suppose you wonder why I left Hattie?" Violet said to Molly. "Did she say anything?"

"No. I don't think she knows or remembers it very well." Molly said truthfully.

"I didn't want to leave her and I didn't leave her, at least not to start with. I ran away from Bill. I suppose you know what a bad lot he was. I took Hattie with me. We came up here for a fresh start and I tried to find work but he came after me and found me again and then he took Hattie. I suppose he thought I'd go back to him if he had her but I just couldn't." She stopped speaking and Molly could see tears in her eyes at the memory.

"Hardest thing I've ever done. What kind of mother, just abandons her child?" She asked herself.

Molly could see the pain she had suffered over the last few years being separated from her child.

"You didn't abandon her. Bill took her. It's not the same." Molly said.

"But I should have gone back shouldn't I?" Violet replied.

Molly felt as though she was speaking with a new voice when she looked at Violet and said,

"I've realised something recently. You can't change the past but you can do something about the future. Hattie's not forgotten you. It's not too late for you and her. You could still be her mum again. You'll just have to decide."

The train was delayed and with every half hour that passed, Molly's level of frustration increased. In her pocket was a letter she had received the day before her leave started. The letter had been sent by Smithy's mother asking her if she would visit her in Newport and after everything that had happened Molly felt that it was only right that she should go and that she owed it to Smithy to adhere to his mother's request.

Molly's sense of responsibility for the unhappiness she had caused Smithy had not lessened over the last few months. The knowledge that he was now alive and relatively safe as a prisoner of war had cheered her a little but she realised that it must be a difficult life for a young man to be locked up with no idea of how long he would be imprisoned and with the added uncertainty of being in the hands of the enemy. The letter Smithy' mother had written to Molly told her that she had heard from him and that she needed to talk with Molly in person.

On leaving RAF Milton Molly had written a quick note to Mrs Smith saying that she would visit her while she was on leave. However, she hadn't expected to be delayed today. It was less than an hour's journey from Bath to Newport and she had expected to have plenty of time to spend with Charles before travelling onto Newport and then making her return journey to RAF Milton in the evening. It now seemed as if in order to fulfil the promise she had made to Mrs Smith she must forgo the happiness of some extended time with Charles.

She knew that with every minute the train was delayed her time with Charles in Bath would be reduced and the worst part was that he didn't know this yet. It had already been too long since they had seen each other that last time at the hospital almost six weeks ago. All they had been able to do in the meantime was write to each other as often as they could. Charles' letters were filled with news of his treatment and the progress he was making, the other chaps he had come to know at the nursing home and some of the entertainments they had to pass the time. He also spoke of his parents and informed Molly that he had told them about her and they were eager to meet her. She wasn't sure if that statement was just a politeness on his part. She thought it was likely that the word 'curious' might have better described his parents' reaction to the news that their son was now involved with a lowly WAAF flight mechanic. They were no doubt curious to know how their well-educated, well-connected RAF Officer son who only a year ago had been engaged to one of the most eligible girls in the county, had now settled for someone so diametrically opposite in terms of her upbringing, education and class. Molly reflected that had she been Charles' parents she might have thought he was deliberately trying to banish all thoughts of Rebecca from his mind by settling for someone as different as he could possibly find. It was an uncomfortable thought and Molly quickly banished it from her mind telling herself that if there was any truth in this idea the time apart would probably have killed his attraction to her. Instead he seemed as keen and eager to see her as ever.

As the train finally drew into Bath station Molly realised that she had only one hour before she needed to travel onto Bristol and then Newport. The train slowed into the station and then came to a halt with a screech of brakes and clouds of steam. Molly opened the carriage door and climbed down onto the platform carrying her kitbag. She craned her neck from side to side looking eagerly for Charles until she finally found him standing under the platform clock. He was dressed in his uniform and air force blue greatcoat with the collar turned up against the cold, a navy blue scarf wrapped around his neck and leaning heavily on a walking stick. As he caught sight of her making her way along the platform through the crowds, his face lit up into a broad smile. Molly's heart leapt and she realised just how much she had missed him. He wanted to walk towards her but she could see that he was struggling. She quickly moved in his direction and he reached out his free hand to her to rest on her shoulder and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

"It's so good to see you, Molly. Really good!"

They stood opposite each other taking in the novelty of being in each other's company again. Around them the milling crowd of passengers leaving the train and those embarking for journeys further west, gradually thinned and when the last carriage door had banged shut and the guard blew his whistle the train slowly started to pull away from the station.

"I'm sorry I'm so late." Molly began, apologetically, "It's the bleedin' trains…"

Charles stopped her. "It doesn't matter. You're here. That's what matters."

He was smiling at her so happily that she felt her heart sink knowing what she had to say next.

Charles had been overjoyed to see Molly step from the train. He had been waiting here for two hours but hadn't minded. It was worth the wait to see her again after all these weeks. The nursing home was comfortable and the other officers were good company but it was difficult being so far away from Molly all the time. He looked down at her face and saw something was wrong. He also noticed for the first time that her lip was cut and bruised.

"What happened to your face?" He asked quietly.

"Oh, nothing, really. I'll tell you in a bit." She sounded evasive.

He was really worried now.

"What's the matter?" He looked directly at her and saw she was nervous.

"I don't know how to tell you this." She began.

Charles braced himself for what might be bad news.

"I've only got one hour and then I have to go to….Newport."

He stared at her and laughed incredulously.

"Is this a joke, Molly, because it's not a very good one!"

"No, I'm sorry."

She proceeded to briefly tell him about the letter from Smithy's mother. As she spoke she could see the disappointment etched all over his face. What must he think of her giving up time with him to visit the mother of crew member who had declared himself to be in love with her? She saw him fighting to give her a suitable response and when he did reply she was sure he was annoyed.

"I can't pretend to understand this, Molly, but if you've made a promise you'd better go."

Molly cursed herself for being so soft-hearted.

"I've still got a bit of time before I have to leave. Let's go and sit down somewhere out of the cold."

She pointed towards the Station buffet and he nodded his agreement. She took his free arm and they made their way slowly along the platform. Once inside, Molly told him to sit down whilst she went to the counter and fetched two cups of tea for them. As she waited, she looked back at him. He was staring straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought and clearly unhappy.

She returned with the tea and setting it before him, tried to lighten the mood.

"So, what's been happening?" She said brightly.

He looked at her as she sat down.

"What happened to your face?"

She paused, wondering whether to tell the truth and judged it inadvisable given the way things were going.

"Just an accident with a spanner." She said slowly.

He gazed at her intently, unsmiling.

"That's a fresh cut. That's not true is it?"

She sighed inwardly, everything seemed to be going wrong.

"No." She confessed. "I got into a bit of a scrape yesterday at the Dragonfly Club."

Charles stared at her in apparent disbelief and speaking in a fierce but lowered tone he said to her, "What the bloody hell were you doing in a place like that!"

"Know it do you?" she retorted in annoyance.

He fought to regain some composure.

"Not personally, Molly. But there aren't many aircrews going on leave to London who haven't heard of that or a dozen other places like it."

They sat in silence for a minute avoiding each other's gaze until Molly said.

"I was looking for someone."

Charles raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Hattie Tyler's mother."

He was incredulous now, "In a 'knocking shop'?" he whispered the last two words to avoid being overhead by some middle-aged ladies on the other side of the room.

Molly tried not to blush but she felt her face growing warmer by the second. He had noticed and looked the other way.

"I didn't know it was somewhere like _that." _She said. "Not until I got there."

"And your face?" He asked again.

"A disagreement with the bloke who runs the place."

"You're telling me a man hit you." He was looking at her obviously furious.

She nodded miserably but added. "Don't worry I hit him back."

They fell into silence again. Molly couldn't believe their time was being taken up like this in bitterness and argument.

Charles was beside himself with annoyance and disappointment. He was bitterly disappointed to hear that Molly could only stay for one hour and that she was deserting him for Smithy's mother but now he was furious with Molly for putting herself in harm's way once again to visit a seedy nightclub and knocking shop in Soho where some brute of a man had actually attacked her. However, she was here and apart from a minor injury seemed to be alright. At last calmer he asked.

"Did you hit him hard?"

She replied quietly. "Well, let's just say he'll be speaking in a higher voice for a while."

She looked at Charles and could see his expression soften and if she wasn't mistaken there was the twitch of a smile in the corners of his mouth. He was amused but trying to hide it.

"Good!" he nodded.

"The thing is." Molly said, "It was worth it because I found Hattie's mum and I think there might be a happy ending."

She reached out and grasped his hands squeezing them tightly.

"I'm sorry I've made a mess of this, haven't I?"

"Well, you're here and even if that's only for another thirty minutes, I'd still settle for that rather than nothing!" He looked resigned, "Let's just make the most of it."

The time simply vanished. It seemed as if only moments later they were standing on the platform again waiting for the Bristol train to arrive. Molly had told Charles briefly the details regarding Hattie's mother, Violet, and although he still hated the thought of what she had done yesterday, he acknowledged that if Violet and Hattie could be reunited then ultimately good had come out of her efforts.

They were standing in a doorway out of the wind away from the crowds waiting for the train due any minute when Charles coughed slightly and said hesitantly,

"There's something I meant to ask you, but in all the, shall we say, excitement, I forgot to say it."

Molly looked up at him curiously,

"Do you think you might be able to get some leave at Christmas? You must be in Groupie's good books at the moment. My parents would like to invite you to stay with us if you think you could make it and you would like to."

He looked at her full of hope. The thought of meeting Charles' parents made her nervous but when she considered the way this meeting today had gone, she was touched by the invitation.

"I'll try, Charles. I'd like to meet them and I'd like to spend Christmas with you."

He smiled gratefully and reached out his free arm to hold her around the waist. Trying to embrace her and hold a walking stick was all a little awkward. They heard the distant sound of the train approaching the station. Charles looked at her anxiously, sorely disappointed that their meeting had been so short and half of it had been marred by an argument. He bent to kiss her but remembering the cut on her lip simply gave her a peck on the cheek. Molly reached up and touched his face.

"Take care!"

He nodded.

"I should be saying that to you, Molly Dawes. You need the advice more than I do."

It was meant to be a joke but it rang a little hollow and Molly couldn't smile. She was sorrier than he knew that she had ruined their time together.

The train pulled into the station. Molly picked up her kitbag and climbed into a carriage with some spare seats. She slammed the door shut and turned to stand at the window. Charles was still in the doorway where she had left him. He raised his free hand to her and waved trying to smile but as the train started to pull away from the station she could see disappointment written all over his face and before the station had disappeared from sight she saw that he had turned away and was making his way back along the platform.

The journey to Newport was uneventful. At Bristol Temple Meads Molly was joined by some sailors from the Merchant Navy heading for Cardiff Docks. They were in cheerful spirits and tried to engage her in some good natured banter but her thoughts were elsewhere and she didn't prove to be the entertaining travelling companion they had hoped.

At Newport she left the station and hoped she would be able to find a taxi. The letter from Mrs Smith had advised her to take a number ten bus but she was already later than she had expected and she knew that she still had to make her way back to RAF Milton that night and wanted to avoid any further delays. She was in luck and found a taxi outside the entrance, gave the driver directions to Bettws Street and within ten minutes she had arrived outside Smithy's home.

The house was situated in the middle of a Victorian terrace. It was mid-afternoon, school had finished for the day and there were children playing in the street whose attention was drawn to the unusual sight of a taxi pulling up outside number fifty one. There was something familiar and comforting to Molly about the street as she got out of the car. It reminded her of home before the war when her brothers and sisters and all her neighbours' children had played out until dusk. She took a deep breath and rapped smartly on the front door.

The door was opened by a small dark-haired woman, with blue eyes and a creamy complexion that couldn't have been more different in appearance to Smithy if she had tried. She was shorter than Molly and looked to be in her early forties. Her eyes brightened as she surveyed her visitor and she called out in a wonderful sing-song voice.

"Goodness, are you Molly?"

Molly nodded.

To her great surprise, Mrs Smith stepped forward and embraced her warmly.

"Well, come in my dear. It's cold out there, isn't it?"

She gestured for Molly to follow her along the hallway, showed her into the front parlour and asked her to sit down. Whilst Mrs Smith busied herself making a cup of tea for her visitor, Molly glanced around the room and caught sight of photographs on the mantelpiece; Smithy in his RAF uniform and another young man she took to be Geraint. There was also a wedding photograph of Mr and Mrs Smith. Smithy had never talked about his father and Molly was curious to see the picture. She could see the man in the photograph was tall and fair-haired and she assumed that Smithy must have inherited his red hair from him. As Mrs Smith entered the room with the tea cups she saw Molly looking at the photograph.

"That's Dylan's father, Owen."

"He looks very handsome." Molly said.

"Oh, yes, he was quite a catch." Mrs Smith replied, "He died in 1937 from pneumonia but he had a weak heart as well. It complicated things. So it's just been me and my boys ever since…" She trailed off suddenly seeming to remember that at this moment in time she was very much alone.

Molly felt desperately sorry for her.

"Well, Smithy will be back as soon as the war is over. Let's hope it's soon, Mrs Smith."

Mrs Smith looked up at her smiling but her eyes looked shiny as if tears were not far away.

"Call me Glenda, love. I feel like we're family."

Molly was immediately struck by Glenda's words. She didn't reply but concentrated on drinking her tea whilst Glenda talked on for a while about Smithy and his childhood and all the things he had got up to when he was younger. Eventually, she turned to Molly and said,

"I suppose I'm telling you lots of things you know already. You shouldn't let me run on, love."

"No, it's all very interesting." Molly replied, wondering why Glenda thought she would know. She was feeling increasingly puzzled as to why Glenda had asked her to visit and decided to speak before she launched into more tales of Smithy's school days.

"Glenda, when you wrote to me you said that you needed to see me in person. Is there something you need to tell me?" Molly asked.

Glenda looked her in the eye.

"I know about you and Dylan. He wrote and told me how he felt about you and now that he's so far away and we won't be able to see him for a long time, I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you." Molly stared at her almost dumbstruck.

Suddenly she could see everything falling into place.

"Did you send Dylan a ring because of what he'd said about me?" Molly asked very quietly.

"Well, yes. It was his Grandma's ring and he wanted to give it to you. I told him he should go with whatever his heart was telling him to do."

Molly felt the blood drain from her face. Smithy hadn't told her the full truth that night when he had given her the ring to keep safe for him but he'd told his Mam and she obviously thought they were very close indeed.

"You look pale, Molly love, are you alright?" Glenda asked her eyes full of concern.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding." Molly began.

"Well, now you come to say that, love, the reason I wanted to see you is that I've had a strange letter from Dylan and I couldn't just write and tell you about it."

Glenda stood up and went across to the Mantelpiece. Behind the clock were several letters and she drew one out and gave it to Molly.

"You'd better read it love and see what you think."

Molly opened the letter.

**_Stalag Luft 1_**

**_12th November 1943_**

_Dear Mam_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I am alright. My arm has healed well and the doctors here have been very good to me. We have plenty to do and the chaps are a good bunch. You'll be surprised by how much I've learned since I've been here thanks to all the lectures we've had and I'm reading lots of books now. Mam, if you get a chance please can you tell Molly, I wish I could change what happened and I'm sorry about the trouble I caused. Ask her to tell the Skipper I said that. I've had lots of time to think. I want Molly to be happy and I know now that she won't be with me._ Ask her to _keep the ring safe. I don't want anyone else to look after it and when I come home she can give it back me. Tell her don't worry. She deserves to be happy. _

_Your loving son,_

_Dylan._

Molly stared at the writing and read the letter again, conscious the whole time that Glenda was watching her. When she finally put the letter down Glenda said,

"I'm sorry, love, I don't know what's come over him. It must be being in that camp. You see I couldn't just write and tell you that, could I. Not with you being engaged."

Molly raised her hand.

"Oh Glenda, We're not engaged. It's nothing like that. We're just friends, that's all."

"But Dylan told me he loved you." His mother said in disbelief.

Molly nodded, "Yes, but…" she broke off.

Glenda looked her in the eye, "You don't love him."

Molly shook her head, "I'm sorry."

Glenda was obviously saddened by this news but said quietly, "I should have known. That's Dylan all over for you, jumping in with two feet first. Well, it sounds as if he's come to his senses anyway."

During the long, dark, uncomfortable journey back to RAF Milton, Molly had leisure to think over the day's events and did so with a mix of emotions. The brief meeting with Charles had been fraught and unsatisfactory. She knew he was disappointed not only to have such a short time with her but to find himself regarded less important than a visit to Smithy's mother. She knew that he wouldn't have understood her continued sense of responsibility for what had happened with Smithy and for that reason she didn't share it with him. Perhaps that had been her mistake. If she had tried to explain how she felt he might have understood. The truth was that she had been afraid he might blame her and she couldn't bear that thought. Now, however, she could see that she was being given the opportunity to move forward and leave those thoughts behind her. Smithy's words and meaning had been clear. He had forgiven both of them and accepted that he might have been in the wrong. Now Molly hoped she would finally be able to put her worries aside and be able to spend time with Charles, if only the war would see fit to permit them.

It was the twenty second of December before Molly was able to telephone Charles and finally confirm that she could come to stay with his parents for Christmas. She had put in a request with Section Officer Crawley the day after her return to Milton but she had been left in suspense as to whether it would be permitted. In the end she had the weather and a lovesick WAAF to thank. An icy cold snap had put paid to operations and many personnel on the base were given leave for a few days over Christmas. Even then it had still been uncertain whether Molly would be permitted more leave so soon after the last occasion. However, when one of the WAAF's changed her mind at almost the last minute about leaving the Station over Christmas because she wanted to stay near her boyfriend, Molly was permitted to have two days leave in her stead. When she spoke to Charles she could hear the smile in his voice and she felt sure that whatever disappointment he had felt on the last occasion they met had given way to his hopes for Christmas.

When Molly got out of the bus at the end of the narrow lane on Christmas Eve, the light was already fading. There was an icy chill in the air and puddles in the road were beginning to freeze over. As she made her way down the lane hemmed in by high hedgerows either side, she wondered if she would reach the cottage before it was completely dark as she hadn't brought a torch with her to light her way. She pulled the collar of her greatcoat up around her neck and buried her face lower into her woollen scarf to keep the chill from penetrating below her chin. Charles had said it was about half a mile along the track to the cottage but in the growing darkness and cold it felt further. When she finally saw the dim outline of a building ahead of her and smelt the wood smoke from the chimney, she felt sure she had arrived at the right place.

As much as she was keen to be indoors out of the cold she felt her nerves at meeting Charles parents returning. Having only seen his mother briefly once at the hospital without being properly introduced Molly had no idea what to expect or whether they would truly be pleased to meet her in spite of Charles insistence.

She pushed open the garden gate and reaching the wooden door knocked smartly twice. From within came the sound of dogs barking and as the door slowly opened two Springer spaniels came bounding towards her jumping up and full of enthusiasm to greet her.

"Here!"

Molly heard Charles call out with the authority in his voice that she had once heard directed at his crew the very first time she had met him. The dogs slipped back through the crack in the door and then she saw it opening wider and saw him silhouetted against the light from within leaning against the door frame. In his right hand he held a walking stick to support himself. He was casually dressed in dark trousers with a light blue shirt and navy blue sweater. She had never seen him in anything but his uniform and she was surprised by the transformation. He looked rested, relaxed, more carefree and much younger.

"Molly!" He stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek before opening the door wider and saying hastily,

"Come in!"

She walked through the door into the hallway of the cottage and put down her kitbag. To her left she could see a door to what appeared to be a warm and comfortably furnished lounge. There was a log fire blazing in the hearth. Molly paused in the doorway expecting Charles' parents to appear. He had closed the front door and she almost jumped when standing close behind her and leaning in towards her, he said quietly,

"Shall I take your coat?"

She undid the buttons one by one and slipped it from her shoulders. He took it from her and hung it on a coat peg and then walking ahead, limping a little and leaning on the stick he led her into the room. She turned the door and braced herself for the introductions that would follow but the room was empty.

She turned around to look at Charles and saw for the first time that he was nervous. He was smiling but it wasn't the open boyish grin she loved. He bit his lower lip as if thinking intently about something and then took a deep breath before saying,

"You may hate me for this Molly, but I have a confession to make."

She was dumbstruck waiting for what he had to say.

"My parents aren't here." He paused and looked anxiously at her. It was not what she had been expecting to hear.

"I should have told you before you left, but I just desperately wanted to see you again."

She could see how much this was true and she knew she had desperately wanted to see him too but she didn't know how to react to this news. She was surprised by his behaviour and if she was honest slightly shocked. This wasn't the Charles that she thought she knew; the one who only a few months ago had been reluctant to get too involved when things had become a little heated between them.

"Are you telling me, you invited me to stay knowing they wouldn't be here?" She said trying to clarify what he meant by his 'confession'.

"No!" he said so hastily and with such an earnest expression on his face that she believed him.

"They _were_ supposed to be here but my Aunt has been taken ill. She's got a house full of evacuees and my mother is the sort who pitches in wherever she's needed. They left yesterday. I should have called you and let you know."

He looked so worried about his revelation that she felt sorry for him. However, the mischievous side of her nature came to the fore and she couldn't help having a little bit of fun. With a feigned air of indignation she exclaimed,

"Are you saying that you lured me here to spend two days alone with you?"

As she spoke she could already see the anxiety on his face and excuses being prepared and she couldn't help herself. She started giggling. The look on his face as he realised she was pulling his leg was a picture. His concern gave way to relief and the boyish grin overspread his face once more.

He shook his head in disbelief, "You!"

He crossed the room in three paces and pulled her into his arms delighting in the way she folded herself against him and reached up to clasp her hands at the back of his neck, her fingers running through the loose curling strands of his hair as she pulled him in closer for a long, lingering kiss. After a while they broke apart and looking down at her he said gently,

"Are you sure you don't mind. I'd understand…." He trailed off.

As much as he longed for her to stay with him he knew that he had to give her a way out. She had walked in here tonight not knowing the situation and as much as he wanted her he felt that he had been a little underhand. Some girls might have slapped his face and stormed out but the gentle smile on Molly's face and the intense lingering look she gave him told him she wasn't going anywhere.

She shook her head. "There's nowhere else I want to be."

The grey light of dawn was peeping through a crack in the bedroom curtains as Molly stirred from her sleep. For a brief moment she was confused by the unfamiliar feel of Charles' arms around her holding her against him as she slept with her back gently curved in towards him.

"Hello." He whispered softly and kissed the nape of her neck sending shivers down her spine. She trembled.

"Are you cold?" He asked.

"Can you warm me up?" she said sleepily with a small giggle.

He sighed deeply remembering the night before; the joy of finally being alone with her and the feel of her lying close to him in his arms. He had no doubts from the way she had responded to him so naturally, without nerves or inhibitions that her feelings and desires in those moments mirrored his own and that for both of them it had been the truest expression of their love for one another.

"You never cease to amaze me, Molly Dawes."

She turned around to face him and saw his brown eyes watching her intently. She could tell he was about to say something important; something that mattered to him.

"I suppose now I've had my wicked way I ought to make an honest woman of you."

She pulled her head a fraction away from him half laughing, half incredulous.

"If that's supposed to be a proposal it's not very romantic!"

Charles smiled and rolled his eyes. By now he should expect no less a retort from her.

"After all," Molly continued, "For a start, I am an honest woman."

She looked into his eyes and said softly, "I love you."


	16. Chapter 16

**_This is the final chapter of "Another time Another Place". Thank you all for your very kind reviews and encouragement which have made writing this so enjoyable. I must take this opportunity to give a special mention to all the Mumsnetters - you have all been and continue to be brilliant! A final thanks as always goes to Tony Grounds for creating these two great characters and the series on which this story is based._**

**July 1945**

"Charles, she'll be here soon!" Molly whispered insistently as he buried his face in her hair and snuggled in close to her, still drowsy despite the lateness of the hour.

"It's your fault." He murmured sleepily.

"How do you make that out?" Molly exclaimed.

He sighed. "You woke me up and tired me out."

Molly shook her head. Charles' view of events amused her. She had risen early as was her normal habit now, whilst he had remained sleeping. When she had returned to bed he had stirred and she had spoken quietly to him. She didn't recall him protesting too much at the disturbance in fact he seemed positively pleased by the interruption to his slumber and had taken full advantage of the peace and quiet of early morning.

"You've done what you want with me, you hussy, now leave me alone." He said sleepily but she could hear him trying to suppress a chuckle and she started to giggle as well. She nevertheless pulled herself away from him.

"We've got to get up, Charles, it's nearly nine o'clock!"

He reluctantly released his hold on her and rolled onto his back. The bright sunlight was pouring through the light fabric of the curtains filling the room with a warm glow. It was going to be another hot day. Charles sighed and opened his eyes to see Molly sitting on the edge of the bed pulling on a dressing gown with her naked shoulders still in view. He moved across and stretched out a hand towards her tracing his fingers from the top of her spine down along the gentle slope of her right shoulder blade.

"Well, perhaps I'm not entirely worn out…" he began but she turned her head and trying to look stern waved her finger at him in an impression of a school mistress.

"No, Charles!"

"Spoilsport!" He retorted laughing and closed his eyes again.

If it hadn't been for their visitor, he reflected, he might have been able to persuade Molly to stay in bed a little longer and she would have been less keen to get up and rush around the house tidying up and preparing for their arrival. It was Sunday; his day off. Since the end of the war in Europe, two months ago, activities at the flight training school had been scaled back. He was still instructing pilots but the urgency and demand had reduced and he was regularly having days off, like today. It was a pity, he reflected, that their visitor couldn't have arranged to come another day when he was at work. He supposed that he should wash and dress and make himself look the part of the respectable host and sighing one last time pushed back the bedclothes and sat up swinging his feet around to rest on the floor.

Molly had wandered downstairs into the front room of the cottage. They had been renting the small two bedroom cottage since last summer. It was only a mile from the aerodrome and therefore convenient for Charles. Molly looked around the room. It was comfortably furnished with a small sofa and two matching armchairs, some low tables and a few lamps and pictures. Charles' mother, Mary, had come up trumps, giving them some of the furniture from their Bath home that had been placed in storage and it had been very welcome. On the mantelpiece above the fireplace were some framed photographs of Charles and Molly's wedding in March 1944 and she could see Mary in the family group, standing close to her son, the epitome of London chic.

It was not until early February 1944 that Molly had finally met Charles' parents. Charles had been passed fit for non-combatant duties by the Medical Board and was shortly to be posted to an operational training unit in Yorkshire. The six weeks that had passed since those blissful two days together at Christmas had seemed very long and tiresome to Molly. She had desperately wanted to tell her family and friends that she was engaged but the whole situation had been complicated by the fact that she had told no one that she and Charles were together let alone that they had seen each other at Christmas. Molly hadn't told her family about taking leave over Christmas at all, reasoning that she had not been sure it would be granted and Charles had told his parents a small lie saying that he had contacted Molly to cancel the visit. Neither of them could reasonably announce an engagement to anyone until they had met again.

When Molly finally got a twenty-four hour pass in the third week of January she had arranged to meet Charles in London. How different that meeting had been to the painful, awkward occasion in Bath after her London leave and the presentation of her George Medal. She had almost knocked Charles off his feet by throwing herself into his arms when she found him waiting for her on the station platform. Before the war people passing by might well have tutted disapprovingly at such a public display of affection in broad daylight but many now simply smiled and accepted the sight of two young people happily reunited.

Molly had been thrilled when Charles took her to the Savoy for lunch and he had been pleased to see how comfortable she seemed with him in such opulent and unfamiliar surroundings.

"It's not too grand, is it?" He had asked her tentatively as they first walked into the restaurant.

She smiled back at him with a wonderful air of confidence,

"No. Compared with Buckingham Palace I'd say it's positively shabby!" and they laughed attracting the attention of some other diners, one or two wondering what an RAF Officer was doing here with a rather lowly ranked WAAF. However, the Head Waiter who was about to show them to a table had become used to seeing his restaurant graced by many a customer who, prior to the wartime restriction on menu prices, would have been very unlikely to have ever crossed their threshold and he welcomed them as politely as any other guest of note or rank.

As they were finishing their meal Charles reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small box.

"I didn't do this properly last time." He said with a smirk at the memory of his last proposal, "Although I did get the response I was hoping for."

Molly giggled but she could see him trying to be serious now and forced herself be quiet.

He looked directly into her eyes and said simply,

"I love you, Molly. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

She nodded. "Yes. Of course."

As he slipped the diamond ring onto the third finger of her left hand, Molly knew that they were about to embark on a whole series of explanations.

The first explanation was to her parents. As much as she had wanted them to know about Charles, she was very nervous about him meeting them and also the fact that he would finally see just how humble her home really was. To Charles it was less of a surprise than Molly had expected. He had always known that they came from very different backgrounds and had a reasonable idea of the type of life she had led before joining the WAAF. He had also overheard much of the story of Smithy's leave in London when he had stayed with her family and so was not surprised by the modest appearance of her home.

Molly's parents had been overwhelmed by the sight of their daughter with such a well-brought up young man. When he had politely called them Mr and Mrs Dawes, Molly's mother had gushed,

"Please call us Betty and Dave, love." Before lapsing into tongue-tied awe again. However, her father had soon felt at home in Charles' company especially when Charles suggested that perhaps they could have a beer at the Earl of Wakefield to celebrate. He had recalled Molly saying her father could normally be won over by anyone buying him a pint and so it proved on this occasion. When they had left for the pub, Betty turned to Molly and said,

"Oh my Gawd, Molly, how on earth did you catch him?"

Molly was slightly offended but managed to hide it by joking, "Charm and magnetism, I suppose."

"What?" Betty replied.

"I dunno. I heard Dorothy Lamour say it once."

"Well, whatever it was, you're a very lucky girl. You've got a good 'un there." Betty remarked.

"As I recall, you said that about Smithy as well." Molly said.

"Well, he seemed like a nice lad and very keen on you. It's a shame he's a prisoner of war now, but at least he's out of it." Betty reflected.

When her mother asked her about her wedding plans she was surprised and a little suspicious to hear Molly say they hoped to get married as soon as possible.

"What's the rush if Charles isn't going to be flying operations anymore?" She asked adding in a quieter voice, "Is there something you haven't told me, Molly?"

Molly knew exactly what her mother was suggesting and assured her immediately.

"No, nothing like that, Mum. We just want to get married before Charles is posted and we don't want to wait, that's all."

She didn't know how to put into words that she just wanted and needed to be with him all the time even though their different postings would make that difficult. At least being married they could openly spend as much time together as the RAF would allow them and that would have to be enough until the end of the war or fate intervened.

The meeting with Charles' parents in early February had been a little different. He arranged for his parents to travel up to meet Molly with him at the George Hotel in Grantley when Molly had a half-day's leave. She had arrived at lunchtime feeling very nervous. Charles met her in the lobby and escorted her through to the dining room. His parents, Mary and Harold, were seated at a table by the window and Charles' father rose politely as she approached the table. Charles introduced them and they all rather formally shook hands. Charles' mother was, as Molly remembered from the hospital, attractive, in her late forties and very smartly dressed with a cool appraising eye. She regarded Molly keenly taking in everything from her appearance to her accent. She could see Molly's obvious attractions. She was clearly a very pretty girl, with beautiful eyes and a lovely figure and she knew that she was also a very brave and dedicated WAAF. She had been impressed by the citation for Molly's George Medal and yet she still knew that there would be social mountains for Molly to climb to fit in with the circle of friends and acquaintances that Charles had enjoyed before the war.

Charles' father, Harold, was ten years older than his wife. Molly looked at him and could see the likeness between the father and son. He was also of tall, slim build with the same dark, wavy hair although it was now streaked with silver. He was pleasant and welcoming and from the very start seemed to hit it off with Molly. Before long they were laughing and sharing a joke and Molly felt very at ease in his company. There was nothing stiff or formal about his manner despite the difference in class between and Molly felt how much Charles had inherited from his father. She wasn't yet sure what his mother thought of her but Mary was polite, took an interest in everything Molly was doing and enquired after her family. She could see by the look on Charles' face that he felt the meeting was going well and to Molly's relief it had been better than she had expected.

Only one awkward moment had occurred when they were discussing some of the views around RAF Milton and Molly, remembering the beautiful sunset she and Charles had seen in September, likened it to a painting she had seen somewhere. It was only when she recalled shortly afterwards that the painting was hanging on the lounge wall in the cottage Charles' parents were using near Bath, that she realised her mistake. Mary looked across the table to see Molly's eyes cast downwards, a blush starting to spread across her cheeks. She was clearly anxious and conscious of having let slip some information and Charles appeared to be holding his breath. In an instance Mary understood it all. Thankfully, Harold seemed oblivious and so she changed the subject immediately and made no remark. However, catching her son alone later, Mary said to him,

"I don't know how Molly knows about the Simpson painting in our lounge and I don't think I want to know. Just tell me there isn't any _need_ to get married." She gave Charles the kind of withering look he remembered as a boy when he had done something wrong. He was a fully grown man and he felt very annoyed and spoke rather sharply.

"No, mother, there's no _need_ to get married, apart from the fact that I love Molly. Even if there were a _need_ to get married, I'd still happily do it."

His mother cleared her throat. "I see."

Charles feeling a little calmer said.

"Molly's the best thing that's happened to me. I know that you liked Rebecca very much, but Rebecca didn't love me and I certainly never loved her the way I love Molly. I'm sorry if that disappoints you."

Mary reached out her hand to grasp Charles' hand and hold it fast.

"I'm not disappointed. I can see she's a lovely girl and that you love her. I just don't want you to have a difficult life because of differences between you."

Charles sighed, "The world is changing. It will certainly be very different when the war's over and hopefully, class differences will matter far less than they did."

Mary said nothing more on the subject but hoped for the sake of Charles and Molly that he was right.

Molly and Charles were married four weeks later at St Mary's Parish Church in Banfield with it being the nearest church to Molly's residence at RAF Milton. Molly had spoken to the vicar at the end of January advising him that she and Charles hoped to marry there in March but couldn't be sure of the date as Charles was likely to be posted at any time. However, the date she had booked proved fortuitous as Charles received orders to report to his new instructor posting three days after the wedding. She applied for leave to get married and was eventually permitted to take three days. She was fortunate as operations were intensifying and there was a constant stream of work for the ground and maintenance crews.

To Molly's great joy her brothers and sisters were able to come to her wedding. Her mother travelled down to Somerset to collect them all and bring them to Banfield. Molly had only seen them once in the past four years and couldn't believe how much they had grown and changed particularly her sister Bella who was now twelve years old. They were excited to see her and she realised how much she had missed them. Her mother was also realising how much of their growing up she had missed in the last few years. They were full of odd sayings and habits the youngest two had even started to speak with a Somerset accent. It bothered Betty and she even mentioned to Molly that perhaps she ought to bring them back to London now that the bombing raids hardly ever occurred. However, Bella's unhappy reaction to this suggestion convinced Betty to think a little more about it before taking any hasty action. She realised that the children would need more time to adapt to the idea and decided in the meantime to try to make more visits to Somerset.

Molly had asked Jackie to be a bridesmaid shortly after informing her to her utter astonishment that she and Charles were getting married. She regarded Molly with a look of total disbelief.

"You sly thing!" she exclaimed, "I had no idea. I thought you and Smithy were seeing each other until you put me right on that."

The news was met with astonishment in many other quarters especially amongst the ground crew and even Mansfield, Nuttall and Fingerson were taken by surprise although Kinders had to come clean and confess that he had received a letter from Charles the previous week informing him about the wedding and asking him to be his Best Man.

Eyebrows were raised across the station for about a week and more than a few comments were passed in the Officers Mess about the matter until a newer piece of gossip came along and nudged it out of the way so that it gradually ceased to be a hot topic of discussion.

It was decided to hold the wedding reception at The White Horse and Jackie, using as much charm as she possessed, managed to persuade Harry, the landlord, to supply enough beer and wine as he could spare for the guests. Mary had come up trumps however, supplying some bottles of Champagne that had been stored away awaiting a special occasion and it was much appreciated for the toast. General pooling of resources and ration coupons together with some assistance from the kitchens at RAF Milton ensured that a reasonable spread was provided for the guests and best of all the Officers Mess at Milton provided a real fruit cake which was neatly concealed under a three tiered cardboard cake cover.

Molly had worried about how she would obtain a wedding dress for the day and was beginning to fear that she might have to wear an ordinary day dress or worst of all her uniform. It was alright for Charles, she thought, all he needed to do was wear his smartest dress uniform. She had racked her brains about what to do but once again her mum's friend, Cynthia, had provided the answer. She was able to loan Molly a wedding dress her niece had worn two years ago. It wasn't the first time it had been borrowed in fact she discovered she was the fourth bride to wear it. As she looked in the mirror on her wedding day she couldn't believe she was looking at herself. The full length, white, silk dress fitted her really well. A veil had been supplied by one of Charles' cousins and Jackie's mother had sent a pale-blue pre-war bridesmaid's dress that her sister had once worn. They were not exactly the same size or shape but Jackie had just about managed to squeeze herself into the gown and if she stood up straight and held her stomach in it certainly looked very elegant. Molly held a simple bouquet of spring flowers which matched those adorning interior of the church.

When Charles, standing at the altar, heard the first strains of the organ and turned to look up the aisle he was stunned by the sight that met him. He turned to see a beautiful, elegant young woman, whom he hardly recognised, walking towards him; a picture of happiness. She had taken his breath away and he was actually speechless as she drew level with him. It was only when she gave him a cheeky wink that he came to his senses and whispered.

"You look beautiful!"

The Reception had been a noisy, happy and informal affair. With so many of their friends from RAF Milton there it was bound to become a little riotous later on much to Betty and Dave's amusement and Mary's disapproval. Kinders had performed his duties competently and gave a short, appropriate and dignified speech to the relief of Mary who thought there was a strong likelihood of risky jokes being included, given the high spirits of the guests. Fortunately, Kinders had enough respect for Charles not to overstep the mark and everyone's blushes were spared.

It was dark before Charles and Molly left in Rosa for their honeymoon. Charles had refused to say where they were going but had saved up his petrol ration to ensure he had enough fuel to drive there. It was a chilly two hours later that Molly smelled the sea and heard the sound of waves crashing on the shore.

"The seaside!" she cried in delight and Charles laughed at her pleasure.

"I remember you saying you only used to go once a year. I thought I'd better do something about that."

As it turned out Great Yarmouth in the spring of 1944 was not the ideal place for romantic strolls on the beach. The weather was bracing with chilly east winds blowing in across the North Sea and the beach was out of bounds and inaccessible, barricaded by barbed wire and covered in anti-tank defences. They only had two days together and the chief of it was spent in their hotel room much to the nods and winks of a few hotel staff. It was however, one of the few places they could keep warm and out of the stiff wind that rattled the windows of the seafront hotel day and night. Or at least that was the reason they joked to themselves that it was necessary to stay tucked up in bed.

The two days disappeared in a flash and it seemed no time at all before Charles dropped Molly back at the gate of RAF Milton. He had stopped the car a mile further back along the road so that they could say goodbye properly away from prying eyes.

"Keep out of trouble, Mrs James." The sound of her married name was strange to her ears and every time she heard it a smile hovered around her lips.

"I'll try." She promised.

Charles kissed her, "Do more than try!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Life as a married WAAF posted a long way from her husband was more difficult than Molly had imagined. It just wasn't the same anymore. Sharing quarters with fifteen other WAAFs felt strange to her now. Some of the WAAFs regarded her differently and even some of the ground and aircrew seemed to think they shouldn't laugh or joke with her too much now because her status had changed. Thankfully, nothing had changed as far as Jackie was concerned and they continued to chat as openly as they had before, go to The White Horse for a drink or occasionally take the bus into Grantley to visit the Cinema. However, none of them had much spare time in the spring of 1944 as operations were intensifying and everyone seemed conscious that with the build-up of troops and armaments in southern England it couldn't be long before the invasion of Europe happened.

The worst thing of all for Molly was not seeing Charles. Now that he had been posted to Yorkshire there was little chance of meeting up for weeks at a time or getting leave that coincided. Molly decided that there was no option but to apply for another posting and hope that it would take her nearer to Charles to allow them to spend some time together. She resolved to discuss it with him the next time they were able to get some leave at the same time.

It was the middle of May before Molly finally had a chance to see Charles again. Two long months had gone by before he called her to say that he had forty eight hours leave and ask if she could get away as well. She went on bended knee to Section Officer Crawley who, taking pity on her situation, permitted her to have a twenty four hour pass.

They met at a conveniently located hotel which Molly was able to reach by train and bus whilst Charles at least had the benefit of driving himself there. It was lunchtime by the time Molly arrived and she found Charles sitting in the bar nursing a pint. He looked well and happy. He crossed to greet her and gave her a kiss.

"I've missed you." He said and looking deep into her eyes and lowering his voice continued, "A lot!"

She smiled, "Did you book a room?"

He took a key from his pocket, "Great minds think alike!"

They ate lunch in the restaurant and talked about their work. To his surprise Charles confessed he was enjoying instructing this time around.

"It's because of you." He told her, "This time I'm doing something I want to do for all the right reasons."

They had almost finished their lunch when Molly remembered something. She reached into her pocket and drew out a letter. She handed it to Charles with a neutral expression on her face unwilling to give anything away.

"Read this."

Charles opened the folded single sheet of paper to see a short note written in a childish hand.

_St Hilda's Children's Home_

_5__th__ May 1944_

_Dear Molly_

_I am writing to say thank you for finding my Mum. She told me that you visited her in London and now she has come to see me. She is going to look for a job near here so that she can see me more and Miss Tyndall says that I might be able to go and live with her one day soon. I would like to do that and my Mum wants me to live with her too. Mum says thank you as well._

_Love from_

_Hattie_

Charles finished reading and handed her back the letter.

"You did a good thing, there, Molly. In spite of everything I said, you were right." He leaned towards her and whispered, "Yet another reason why I love you."

On the 6th of June 1944 the world awoke to the momentous news of D-Day and the Normandy landings but Molly awoke to an entirely different sensation as the moment she sat up and swung her legs out of bed she was assailed by a wave of nausea and forced to rush to the lavatories where she was unexpectedly sick. Ten minutes later, feeling slightly better, she returned to the dormitory and although a little pale and shaky was able to get dressed and go to breakfast although the sight and smell of it deterred her from eating anything.

"You look a bit rough." Jackie observed.

"Yes," Molly said, "I must have eaten something that disagreed with me."

As the day went on Molly felt better and was able to go about her work. However, after a repetition of this same occurrence for five mornings in a row, Jackie took her to one side.

"Molly, don't you think you'd better go and see the M.O.?"

Molly shook her head, "It's nothing Jackie. It just comes and goes."

Jackie gave her a long searching look, "You've forgotten that before you arrived I worked with Annie. I've seen this before, Molly."

Molly didn't want to admit it but she knew Jackie was right.

After asking Molly a few questions and giving her a short examination the M.O. confirmed what she already knew; she was pregnant and her days in the WAAF were numbered. He couldn't help reflecting that for a young woman in the happy position of being married with a husband in a safe occupation and all things being respectable and above-board, Molly didn't seem very happy at the prospect of impending motherhood. He'd seen a few other WAAF's in his surgery over the last three years who had been 'PWP' or pregnant without permission and who had taken the news of their condition better than Molly.

"Congratulations, James." He said, "I'm sure your husband will be delighted at the good news."

He thought she looked a little tearful and asked.

"Is everything alright?"

Molly sniffed and wiped a tear away.

"It's not the baby, Sir. It's leaving the WAAF that's upsetting me. I love this job."

The M.O. was a kind man at heart and wanted to say something comforting.

"Your dedication does you credit, James, but being a mother is also a very worthwhile occupation."

She tried to smile but could only wonder exactly what kind of mother she would turn out to be.

When Molly finally managed to get through to the OTU two days later her heart pounding with the momentous knowledge she had to impart, she told Charles the news and waited for a response. To her surprise there was silence at the other end of the telephone until he said.

"I'm sorry, Molly."

She was stunned. "What the hell do you mean, you're sorry." She almost bellowed down the line at him in annoyance.

"Hold on…" he said laughing, "I was trying to say, I'm sorry that you'll have to put up with living here with me all the time now and I want you to leave the WAAF as soon as you bloody well can! "

"So you're pleased then?" Molly asked.

"Of course, I am." He cried, "My only thought when you told me was that we're all going to be together at last."

Molly liked the way he said 'all' knowing that he meant his family; both of them and their baby.

The wheels once set in motion moved very quickly and within a very short space of time Molly was officially discharged from the WAAF and found herself finally living with Charles in a small cottage he had found to rent near the aerodrome at which the OTU was based. It was a very different kind of life to the one she had been living for more than a year but she found that she settled into the role of homemaker better than she had expected and began to look forward to the baby being born. She had had plenty of experience helping her mother to look after her younger brothers and sisters and reasoned that this experience must be of help to her in the future. Best of all she and Charles were finally able to be together as a proper married couple.

The grandparents on both sides of the family were delighted at the news. Mary tried to insist on paying for Molly to go into a private nursing home for the birth of the baby but Molly wouldn't hear of it. She was adamant that she wanted the baby to be born at home, the way she and her brothers and sisters had been.

It was a bitterly cold day at the end of February 1945 when Molly went into labour. The sky was grey and threatening. Snow flurries were beginning to fall prompting fears from Molly that the doctor might be prevented from arriving in time for the birth. She needn't have worried, the midwife assured her there was no urgency and everything would take time. When Charles returned from the aerodrome after work he had found everything in full swing upstairs. He had ventured up to the bedroom and peeped around the door to see Molly lying on the bed, looking flushed, with an intense look of concentration on her face the like of which he had never seen before.

"Is everything alright?" He said tentatively.

Molly gasped and said to him through gritted teeth, "'course it bleeedin' well isn't".

The midwife hurried over to the door and shooed him away saying everything was just fine.

There was nothing he could do. He felt utterly useless. He paced around downstairs trying to find things to do that would occupy him. He put on the radio and listened to the news at nine o'clock followed by the war report and then tried to focus on the play that followed afterwards. At ten o'clock the doctor arrived. He brushed snow from the shoulders of his coat as he stepped into the hall. The midwife came downstairs to talk to him and told Charles not to worry everything was progressing very well. However, the occasional audible yells and groans from Molly upstairs only increased his anxiety levels. Despite all the bombing missions he had flown and the dangers he had experienced, he had never felt the way he did at this moment; terrified for someone else.

It was almost midnight when Charles heard Molly give a long, deep, harrowing cry that sounded as if every last ounce of her strength and determination were being concentrated into that single moment and he instinctively rushed to the foot of the stairs ready to go up and enter the room no matter what the midwife had to say about it when he was stopped in his tracks by hearing the very first cry of a baby and he knew then that it was all over.

Ten minutes later, the doctor came out of the bedroom smiling and beckoned to Charles to come up.

"Congratulations! You have a son." He said.

The bedroom door was open and the midwife was fussing around tidying up. Molly was sitting up in bed. Her hair had been brushed and was hanging loosely around her shoulders. She was glowing with happiness and success. She gazed at Charles and saw a look of wonder and delight on his face as he took in the sight of her holding his newborn son. He sat down next to her on the bed and reached out to the tiny bundle with the shock of dark hair that Molly was cradling in her arms. He saw tiny fingers stretch and curl again into a little fist and felt engulfed by wave of protectiveness towards both of them; they were his family.

"What shall we call him?" Charles whispered to Molly seeing two dark eyes gazing up at him in wonder at the world he had just entered.

"William." Molly said softly.

Charles nodded, "William James it is, then."

He looked up again and his eyes met Molly's.

"Did I ever tell you how amazing you are?"

She nodded. "But I'll never tire of hearing it."

Molly glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was just after ten o'clock on this beautiful Sunday morning in July and Jackie had expected to reach them at about this time. She had been on leave staying with her parents and wanted to take this opportunity to travel north, visit Molly and finally meet little William. Molly had fetched him after he had woken from his nap in his cot, changed and fed him and he was now fully awake, smiling, gurgling and looking bonny; ready for a visitor.

She was startled by the knock at the front door and carrying William in her arms she hurried along the hallway to open it. The door was old and always stuck a little at the bottom and with only one free hand she had to tug hard until it swung free and opened.

Molly was rooted to the spot, overcome by surprise that rapidly turned to delight and a broad smile spread across her face at the sight of not only Jackie but standing next to her, Smithy. Jackie stepped forward and hugged Molly careful not to crush William.

"Molly. It's good to see you and look at him!" She said excitedly reaching out to touch the tiny little boy in Molly's arms, "He's lovely!"

Molly gazed at Smithy standing a little way behind Jackie. He looked the same as ever with the same irrepressible cheeky smile and a twinkle in his eye as he said,

"I bet you weren't expecting to see me, Molly?"

Molly laughed.

"You're right there but it is really good to see you, Smithy!"

She stepped aside and ushered Jackie and Smithy into the hall and indicated that they should go into the front room and sit down. She followed them through still slightly in shock at the sight of Smithy being here after such a long time but in her heart she knew that she was glad to see him especially looking so relaxed and happy.

Jackie looked longingly across at Molly with William in her arms and said,

"Oh, what a lovely baby he is, Molly!"

"Would you like to hold him, Jackie?" Molly smiled at her friend knowing what the answer would be.

Jackie nodded and opened her arms to receive him whilst Molly carefully passed him over to her seeing him settle contentedly whilst Jackie cooed over him.

Molly turned to Smithy who was happily watching Jackie with the baby.

"How are you, Smithy? You look well." She had to admit that he did look well. She had seen photographs in the newspaper and a newsreel at the cinema of prisoners of war returning from camps in Germany and many of them had looked gaunt and tired but Smithy looked just as he had the last time she had seen him at RAF Milton more than eighteen months ago.

"I'm alright, Molly. I've had couple of months of my Mam's cooking to feed me up. Never better!" He paused before adding more quietly, "She said that you've been writing to her now and then and that you visited her. Thanks. I know she appreciated it and," he gazed at William in Jackie's arms, "she made me promise to tell her all about this little chap."

He smiled at Molly and she thought he was looking a little self-conscious as he said,

"How's the Skipper?"

Molly looked him directly in the eye,

"He's very well and I know he'll be delighted to see you." She paused, "In fact, he's at the bottom of the garden. I'll go out and tell him you're both here."

Molly left Smithy and Jackie with William and walked along the hall, into the Kitchen and out into the garden at the rear of the cottage. Charles was at the edge of the lawn sweeping up some grass cuttings and looked up as Molly approached.

"Jackie's here and she brought someone with her."

Charles stopped what he was doing and asked, "Who?"

"Smithy."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Charles. It had clearly come as a big surprise. He looked directly at her,

"Did you know he was coming here?"

"No," Molly replied, "I was as shocked as you." She had told Charles about the letter Smithy had sent to Glenda from the camp at Barth and he knew that Smithy had accepted that his behaviour had been wrong on that last flight. Charles sighed and reached out to touch Molly's face looking to her for reassurance.

"Well, I suppose it's about time we cleared the air." He said, "It's been long enough."

She nodded. "I'm sure he hasn't got any axe to grind now. In fact, "she smiled at Charles mysteriously, "I think he's here for another reason altogether. Let's just wait and see."

Molly followed Charles back into the house. As they neared the open door of the front room they could hear Jackie speaking baby talk to William and Smithy laughing softly. Charles paused and took a deep breath before he pushed the door open and entered the room.

Smithy stood up immediately at the sight of Charles. Facing each other across a distance of ten feet it was obvious that both of them were remembering the last time they had seen each other fifteen thousand feet over Germany and the memories for both were uncomfortable. Charles spoke first.

"It's good to see you, Smithy."

"You too, Skip." Smithy replied.

Molly watched them and realised they were both experiencing a mixture of emotions. Thankfully, Jackie was too busy looking at William to pay full attention to the exchange. Molly realised that there were things that needed to be said and could only be said alone. Looking at Jackie, she said brightly,

"Come up and see the nursery, Jackie."

She reached to take William from her and her friend happily followed her out of the room and upstairs. As Molly left she shut the door behind her.

"Well," Charles began as he ran his fingers through his hair, "There's been a lot of water under the bridge, Smithy."

Smithy glanced around him seeing Charles and Molly's wedding photographs on the mantelpiece, William's shawl lying on the sofa, the comfortable cosy surroundings and all the trappings of a family home and he said,

"Yes, I can see that, Skip." He hesitated before continuing, "Did Molly tell you that I wrote to my Mam about what happened."

Charles nodded. "Yes. She did."

Smithy shook his head, "I don't know what came over me. I lost control of myself. I'm sorry, Skip."

Charles looked directly at Smithy and said with feeling, "You weren't the only one. I wasn't fully in control of myself, either. But I know this, Smithy. Whatever happened then, I am proud to have served alongside you."

He reached out his hand to Smithy who grasped it firmly and they shook hands.

Having finally put this painful memory to one side both Charles and Smithy realised there was much news to catch up on and soon the conversation flowed easily between them again and Molly, with only half an ear on Jackie's chattering, was relieved to hear the sound of male laughter coming from the front room and realised that they had thankfully put the past behind them.

Charles had been interested to hear the story of what happened to Smithy after he had baled out and he listened intently as Smithy told him as much detail as he could about his rescue, the hospital treatment and then his transfer to Barth and the life he had spent there for eighteen months. He told Charles that when the Russians were advancing at the very end of April the entire camp had been ordered by the German Kommandant to evacuate however, they had refused. The senior allied officer in the camp, an American Colonel Zemke, had negotiated with the Kommandant and they had agreed that to save needless bloodshed the German guards would simply leave the camp. The following day a regiment of Russian Cossacks had arrived and liberated them. Within two weeks of being liberated Smithy had been flown back to England on an American B17 as part of Operation Revival the plan to repatriate allied prisoners of war as quickly as possible.

Now that he had been back in England for a couple of months Charles asked Smithy about his plans for the future and he told him that whilst he was in the camp he had become friends with another Flight Engineer, John Powell, who had been a garage mechanic before the war. To occupy the endless time at their disposal John had passed on as much of the theory of car engines and maintenance from memory as he could and he and Smithy had decided to set up in business together. Once they were established John was going to teach Smithy the practical side of how to maintain and mend engines and they planned to open a garage together.

Smithy asked Charles if he planned to stay in the RAF now that the war in Europe was over and it couldn't be long before the conflict with the Japanese came to an end. Charles shook his head.

"I've got a few other ideas. I've actually discovered that I like instructing and Molly and I have been talking with my parents about us possibly buying some land and setting up our own airfield. After all, I know where I can get my hands on some ex-RAF training aeroplanes and I've got a qualified flight mechanic to assist me plus my first pupil is already lined up."

Smithy looked impressed, "That's pretty good going, Skip. Who's the pupil?"

Charles gave Smithy a long look and said, "Do you need to ask?"

The penny dropped and Smithy said, "Of course, it's Molly!"

Half an hour had passed and Molly thought she had exhausted all she had to say about William's nursery to Jackie. She could still hear the sound of Charles and Smithy's conversation downstairs and judged all to be well. She looked at her friend and realised how animated and happy she looked and not just because of her excitement at seeing Molly and little William for the first time. Molly was curious,

"So, Jackie. How come Smithy's with you today? You didn't say anything about him in your letter."

Jackie looked at her apologetically.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Molly shook her head, "Of course, not. I just didn't realise you were so friendly."

Jackie grinned at her, "Well, I suppose you might have guessed that I always liked him." Molly had realised a long time ago when Jackie had been upset about Smithy baling out and then later filled with joy at finding out he was a prisoner of war that Jackie had feelings for him. She had laboured under the false impression for a long time that Molly and Smithy were together and that had held her back. Molly smiled back at Jackie.

"I might have just suspected that you liked him!" she joked.

"Well, Smithy called in at Milton a few weeks after he was repatriated and we ran into each and let's just say we've been getting on pretty well, ever since." Molly could see how happy Jackie was and was delighted for both of them.

"So did you suggest Smithy came here today or did he ask if he could come with you?" Molly enquired.

Jackie thought about it. "A bit of both, I suppose."

Molly heard the front room door open and then Charles called up the stairs,

"Molly, shall we all go out and sit in the garden, it's getting quite hot in here, now."

Jackie and Molly, carrying William, came down the stairs. As Molly descended she caught Charles' eye and he gave her just the merest reassuring nod and smiled at her. She understood that everything was finally resolved between himself and Smithy and sighed happily.

They all went out to the garden and Molly decided to fetch some fresh lemonade from the kitchen. She handed William to Charles and went inside. As she fetched the glasses from the cupboard and went to the larder for the lemonade she saw Charles and her two friends chatting amiably and Jackie and Smithy catching each other's eye sharing, no doubt, a private joke and a thought occurred her. She wandered back upstairs to the bedroom she and Charles shared and opened a drawer in the dressing table. It was still there, wrapped in a lace handkerchief. She took it out and slipped it into the pocket of her dress.

As she carried the lemonade and glasses on a tray out into the garden and placed them on the wooden table, Smithy turned around and seeing her wandered towards her. Charles was showing Jackie the garden, walking around looking at the flower beds whilst holding William close to him.

Molly offered Smithy a glass of lemonade and he took it from her and drank gratefully.

"I understand from Jackie that you've been seeing a lot of each other." She said tactfully.

Smithy glanced at her, "She's alright!"

"Just alright, Smithy?" Molly enquired.

He smiled at her almost bashfully, "You know what I mean."

"Yes," Molly said softly, "I know what you mean and I know you'll both be happy. In fact, I thought you might want this."

She reached into her pocket and drew out the gold and emerald ring that Smithy had given her all those months before. She held it out to him and he took the ring from her.

"Thanks for keeping it safe, Molly."

"I promised I would and I always keep my promises."

They drank the lemonade in silence watching Jackie and Charles talking. Molly glanced at Smithy. There was a faraway look on his face.

"Penny for them!" She said.

"Do you ever think things could have turned out very differently?" Smithy asked.

Molly contemplated the meaning of his question before replying.

"Do you mean because of fate or luck or are you talking about you and me?" She asked him quietly.

Smithy shrugged.

"You and me? Well, maybe in another time or place but not now."

He smiled wistfully watching Charles gently cradling their little son in his arms.

"No. You'd always have loved the Skipper. Anyone can see that."

**THE END**


End file.
